Same Direction
by monkshoodr
Summary: AU - In the fallout of Addison and Mark's affair, Derek isn't the one to leave New York for Seattle. How does this new attending affect the lives of the interns starting their careers at Seattle Grace? Eventually MerDer.
1. Chapter 1

**_Disclaimer: I do not own, nor have any affiliation with, Grey's Anatomy, ABC, or Shonda Rhimes._**

Meredith groaned as the light filtering through her eyelids became too bright to ignore. She blinked, blearily, and had to bite back a whimper when she moved her head.

"No more tequila," she muttered. "No more sleeping on couches; especially not before work…first day of work…crap."

That was when she noticed what she was wearing, or rather, what she wasn't wearing. It was to be expected, for her, that if tequila was involved, so was a man. Tequila made everyone and everything seem kind of porny.

'Definitely a man,' she thought as her body became aware enough to recognize the dull ache between her thighs. 'Yep, sex. Lots of sex.'

She tried to cast her mind back to the night before, lifting a slender hand to massage her left temple. A few memories filtered through the haze; there had been a mixer, that boring party for the interns. She had left that scene as soon as she could, hoping to escape talking to Dr. Webber. Then there had been the bar across the street, nice and cozy, and that had been where the tequila entered the picture; many, many shots of tequila. And then some hot man…who must still be here.

She shifted her head on the couch and saw the naked man lying on her floor. 'Yep, still here.'

Noticing the clock on the mantle, she cursed and sat up. She pulled the blanket off the unknown man, pausing only a second to enjoy her last glimpse of his sculpted ass before dropping a pillow onto it to shield it from her gaze. He grunted and shifted slightly.

Meredith wrapped herself in the blanket, and gave the man a quick poke with her toe.

"You have to go."

His eyes open, eyelashes fluttering as he attempts to clear the haze obscuring the blue. The low groan escaping from his throat announces that he too is feeling the after effects of too much alcohol; scotch, in his case.

"This is…" He starts, passing a black lacy bra up to Meredith.

"Humiliating on so many levels," she confirms, snatching the bra from his grip. "Again, you have to go."

"Why don't you just come back down here and we'll pick up where we left off?" He smirks, obviously recovering enough to hope for more sex.

"No, seriously. You have to go. I'm late. Which isn't what you want to be on your first day of work. So…" Meredith cuts off, hoping he will get the hint and leave. Luckily, he seems to understand that she's serious, and begins to dress.

"So…nice place," he says, the smirk back in full force. "Dusty though. You just move in?" The smirk gets even more pronounced as he continues, "you know, we didn't even make it past the front room; must have been pretty eager last night. You could give me a tour of the rest of the house. I do great work on all surfaces and furniture."

"I moved two weeks ago from Boston. I was my mother's house. I'm selling it." Meredith shook her head, trying to focus her still fuzzy brain. "You know what, nevermind, we don't need to exchange the details. I'm not interested in your work anywhere else."

She sighed, and began her usual line for getting rid of her one night stands, "look, I'm going to go upstairs and take a shower. Okay? And when I get back down here, you won't be here. So…um….goodbye…ummm"

The man looks up as he buttons up his shirt, a little shocked at his abrupt dismissal. The corner of his mouth creeps up as he realizes this girl might have more in common with him than just the night they had shared before. He had delivered a similar line many times in the past.

Finally realizing that she was struggling to remember his name, he extended a hand, his steamiest look in full force, "Mark."

"Mark. Right. Meredith." She smiles awkwardly, shaking his hand.

"Meredith," he repeated.

"Yeah," she exhaled, releasing his hand to give a quick wave before dashing up a cluttered staircase.

"Nice meeting you, Meredith," he muttered before exiting the house.


	2. Chapter 2

**_"If at first you don't succeed, then skydiving isn't for you." - Screaming Lord Sutch_**

Meredith dashed out of the house, juggling her car keys and purse as one hand reached up to smooth her still-damp hair. She made it halfway to the car before swearing and turning back to go lock the front door.

Backing the car down the driveway, Meredith narrowly missed hitting the garbage can by the curb. She slammed down the breaks and paused, breathing deeply. While her shower had cleared some of the hangover fog, her head was still not up to sudden movements.

"Relax," she breathed. "Don't want to show up for my first day of work as a patient instead of a doctor." Once she had reached a modicum of calm, Meredith continued her drive.

She pulled her jeep into a parking spot, only ten minutes after her official work start time. Meredith scrambled out of the car, making sure to grab all her things off the passenger seat before jogging across the parking lot. Her speed slowed as she neared the familiar glass doors, a sense of trepidation causing tightening in the pit of her stomach. She drew in one final fortifying breath before stepping towards her future.

'It's lucky I know my way around,' she thought as she slipped into the O.R. behind the group of interns, thankful that she hadn't needed to draw attention to herself by finding someone to show her the way.

Looking around the O.R., Meredith could feel her excitement building. This is where she is supposed to be, where she wanted to be, where she had worked hard to be. Her eyes roved over the metal operating table, imagining an open body lying there with surgeons and nurses standing over it, busily passing scalpels and pick-ups back and forth. She could almost hear the beeps from the monitors which currently stood silent by the wall. The gallery drew her attention as she pictured herself in the future, operating on her stage, with an audience peering down in rapt admiration.

Dr. Webber's voice filtered through her daydreams, attracting her focus to the older man. She studied his face, noting the new laugh lines, and hints of grey in his once dark hair. He looked older, certainly, but not so very different. His face looked serious and professional as he continued with his speech, a far cry from the kind young doctor she remembered from her childhood. A faint grin crossed her face as she recalled the many hours sitting on the floor of his office surrounded by paper and crayons. Her smile froze as she suddenly flashed back to the day she had run out of paper and drawn a butterfly on one of Dr. Webber's completed charts. Her mother had done a lot of yelling about embarrassment. Meredith shook the painful memories aside, resolving to pay attention.

"Say hello to your competition," the Chief introduced. Meredith hazarded quick glances at the other faces around her; some looking cocky, some dazed, and one who looked a little like he was going to be sick. "Eight of you will switch to an easier specialty. Five of you will crack under the pressure. Two of you will be asked to leave. This is your starting line. This is your arena. How well you play, that's up to you."

'Screwed,' Meredith thought, with an internal sigh. 'I'm totally screwed.'

* * *

Meredith stood in front of her locker, shoving her clothes and purse into the narrow metal cubby. She straightened her lab coat, and swept her dirty blonde hair up into a smooth pony tail. As she placed her stethoscope around her neck, she paused to dig her fingers into the soft flesh between her nape and her right shoulder. Sleeping on a couch had not done her any favours, and the remnants of her hangover were hanging on because of all the noise of chattering interns.

As the first group of interns was claimed by their resident, Meredith figured she ought to try and be social. She turned to the woman with the locker beside her; slender, Asian, with a no-nonsense look on her face. She looked prepared, and eager, and surgery hungry. Her mother would have loved her.

"Only 6 women out of 20," she ventured, trying to start some sort of conversation.

"Yeah. I hear one of them's a model. Seriously, that's gonna help with the respect thing," the woman spat out, before quickly glancing over at Meredith with an appraising look.

Not one to be intimidated, Meredith continued, "You're Cristina, right?"

Cristina nodded; apparently Meredith had passed the initial cursory inspection. "Which resident you assigned to? I got Bailey."

"The Nazi? Me too."

They were interrupted by a puppy dog-like man. Boy? Man? "You got the Nazi? So did I. At least we'll be tortured together, right? I'm George … O'Malley." He turned to Meredith. "Uh…we met at the…ah mixer…you had a black dress with a slit at the sides, strappy sandals and….now you think I'm gay."

Meredith just glanced at Cristina, and smiled sympathetically. Cristina smirked.

"I'm not gay."

George continued to bumble an explanation, but Meredith was distracted by the sound of her last name being called. She headed for the hallway, closely followed by Cristina and George, and a perky blonde who introduced herself as Izzie to the short, dark woman in front of them.

Dr. Bailey just stared at her, as if astonished that she would even care to know her name, and completely unphased by any attempts to impress. "I have 5 rules," she started. "Memorize them. Rule number 1. Don't bother sucking up. I already hate you, that's not gonna change."

'Great,' Meredith thought. 'This is going to be just great.'


	3. Chapter 3

**_All paid jobs absorb and degrade the mind. - Aristotle_**

Meredith leaned back against the wall, staring at Katie Bryce's bed. Her vitals were steady, and she was still out from the sedative, mercifully silent.

'Much less irritating when she's silent,' Meredith thought. 'If I hear one more word about pageants, I might throttle her.'

Her shoulders drooped as she leaned further back, letting the wall support more of her weight. She was tired and annoyed already. As interesting as Katie's case is, unless she gets some surgery out of it, it would not be worth dealing with the immature ranting of a spoiled girl.

And of course the other interns had found out about her mother. Not that she had expected to keep it a secret long, but she didn't like the looks and the whispers she was getting already. Meredith couldn't decide who was worse: those expecting brilliance, or those hoping to see her fail.

A worried looking couple came into the room, gasping as they took in the sight of the pale girl lying on the bed. Meredith pushed off the wall, and put on a professional expression.

"They gave her a sedative for the CT scans so she's a little groggy."

Katie's mother looked at her in alarm, "Will she be alright?"

Meredith gave a weak, reassuring grin and began to back out of the room.

"Our doctor at home said that she might need an operation. Is, is that true?" The mother continued.

Katie's father's voice almost overlapped it, jumping in with, "what kind of operation?"

Meredith paused, completely uncertain of what to say, "She's um … well … you know what I'm not, I'm not the doctor," she paused; this was not coming out at all the way she intended. "Um I'm a doctor. But I'm not Katie's doctor, so I'll go get him for you."

Beating a hasty retreat she found Bailey, who pointed her in the direction of Dr. Drake, the Head of Neurosurgery. He was a kindly looking older doctor, with grey hair and glasses. His chubby cheeks gave him a youthful appearance despite his age. Dr. Drake was happy to follow Meredith back to Katie's room to reassure her parents, despite the unexplained nature of her seizures.

* * *

Meredith sat on a gurney in some abandoned basement hallway, joining in with Izzie and Cristina's half-hearted attempts to convince George that his failed appendectomy hadn't branded him as a failure for the rest of his surgical career. Meredith really had believed he could do it. Or, she certainly had hoped he could. She wanted to believe that they all had the abilities; they had all been chosen for the highly acclaimed surgery internship at Seattle Grace. They had to be good; she had to be good.

Meredith is jolted into action by her beeping paper. She stares at it for a few seconds; it is almost surreal to think she is actually being called for an emergency.

"Oh man. It's 911 for Katie Bryce." She looks at the others, a little unsure of herself. "I gotta go."

After sprinting up several flights of stairs, Meredith arrives, breathless, in Katie's room. The room is a hive of activity, nurses flitting everywhere as Katie seizes on the bed.

The room goes a little blurry as all Meredith can do is stare, frozen. The words of one of the nurses just barely registering in her brain, "She's having multiple grand mall seizures. Now how do you want to proceed?"

He pauses, not seeing any acknowledgement in her expression. "Dr. Grey, are you listening to me? She's got diazepam; 2 mg lorazepam. I just gave a second dose. Dr. Grey, you need to tell us what you want to do. Dr. Grey!"

Katie's body was jerking around on the bed, several nurses trying to hold her down. In one particularly violent spasm, her face hit the side rail of the bed, lacerating her forehead, just above her right brow.

The sight of the dark red fluid dripping from Katie's pale skin jolted Meredith into action. She grabbed the chart, double checking meds out loud.

"She's full on lorazepam?"

"She's had 4 milligrams," the nurse replied, patiently but still concerned for the twitching girl.

"And you've paged Dr. Bailey and Dr. Drake?" Meredith needed someone else to get here. It was her first day; she shouldn't be expected to know how to do this, not perfectly.

"Lorazepam isn't working," was the reply, along with a curt nod indicating that they had been called.

"Phenobarbital. Load her with Phenobarbital," Meredith ordered, watching as the fluid was injected into the IV.

"Still no change," came from the nurse.

"I can see that!" Meredith snapped. "You paged Dr. Drake?"

The nurse sighed, "I just told you we did. You need to tell us what you want us to do."

The frantic beeping from the monitors fell into a steady scream, as the EKG registered V-fib.

"Heart's stopped!"

"Code blue!"

The shouts were coming from all directions. Meredith barely had time to orient herself before she had to grab the paddles from the defibrillator. "Charge paddles to 200."

"Charging," the nurse responded. "Clear."

Meredith shocked, and was only a little surprised by the jerking movement of her patient, and the slight recoil in her hands. "Charge to 360."

"Charging. Clear."

Meredith delivered another shock, moving quickly to force a few manual downward thrusts to Katie's sternum. "Charge again."

The nurse who had been responding to most of her inquiries butted in, "It's been 60 seconds. You're supposed to administer another drug."

She shot him a quick dirty look, "Charge again!"

Meredith delivered a final shock, and the change registered on all the monitors.

"I see sinus rhythm," called one nurse.

"BP and rate are back up," added another.

The lead nurse raised his eyebrows and nodded, seemingly impressed. "Tyler," he said, proffering a hand over Katie's bed.

"Meredith Grey," she replied, shaking his hand. "Thanks."

He shrugged, and nodded. The doorway to the room was suddenly crowded by the arrival of Drs. Bailey and Drake, both demanding answers.

"She had a seizure and her heart stopped." Meredith began. "Vitals are stabilized. The code was documented in her charts." She hoped that Tyler wouldn't mention her initial freeze. He didn't, just gave her a small wink as he wheeled the defibrillator out of the room.

Dr. Drake nodded, and even Bailey looked impressed.

The older doctor sighed, "I don't know what it is. She's a mystery. She doesn't respond to our meds, labs are clean, scans are pure but she's having seizures; grand mal seizures, with no visible cause. She's a ticking clock. She's going to die if I don't make a diagnosis." He looked at Meredith, studying her for a few seconds. "Dr. Grey, I know you're tired, and busy. But if you have a bit of time to do some research, I would appreciate it. If you find the answer you get to do what no other interns get to do, scrub in to assist on advance procedure. We need to come up with something."

Dr. Bailey looked like she was going to oppose this special treatment for her intern.

Dr. Drake held up a hand to stop the diatribe before it began. "She's Katie's doctor," he explained. "And she has already saved her life. I'm desperate for answers; if she comes up with one, she gets rewarded."

Although she was not used to being told to agree to something, Dr. Bailey saw his point. She nodded curtly, and wandered off muttering about hot shot young interns.

Meredith gave Dr. Drake a faint smile, and went toward Katie's bed to examine the laceration. "It's not a clean cut," she frowned. "And it's deep. She's going to need stitches."

Dr. Drake nodded, and Meredith pulled open a drawer to look for a suture kit. She paused mid-search when a weak voice spoke from the bed.

"Nobody is touching my face until I've seen the Head of Plastic Surgery."


	4. Chapter 4

**_I have not failed. I've just found 10,000 ways that won't work__. - Thomas Edison_**

Meredith breathed a tired sigh as she dropped a stack of charts on to the nurses' station in the post-op ward. She was nearly done the paperwork for the day. As much as she wanted the advanced surgery with Dr. Drake, she had other work to complete before she could even begin research. But, she was almost done.

She glanced up at the sound of raised voices from a nearby bed, recognizing on of the speakers as an intern from the gallery of George's failed surgery.

"4B's got post-op pneumonia. Let's start antibiotics." He ordered, dismissively, passing the corresponding chart to the nurse.

The nurse looked sceptical, "are you sure that's the right diagnosis?"

The intern started, and stared as if he could not believe the nurse had the audacity to doubt his skill. "Well, I don't know, I'm only an intern," he began with an eye roll. "Here's an idea, why don't you go spend 4 years in Med. school and then let me know if it's the right diagnosis. She's short of breath. She's got fever. She's post-op. Start the antibiotics."

The nurse sighed and stormed off. The intern headed straight toward Meredith at the nurses' station, dropping his charts beside hers.

He turned to her, the superiority in his face replaced with a keen appraisal of her body. "God, I hate nurses," he began with a grin, obviously expecting her immediate agreement. "I'm Alex. I'm with Jeremy. You're with the Nazi right?"

Meredith was not so easily impressed, despite the cute face and hot body. With a slight frown she began, "she may not have pneumonia you know? She could be splinting or have a PE."

The admiration dropped from Alex's gaze, and his smirk hardened into impassivity. "Like I said, I hate nurses."

Meredith's eyes widen in shock, astonished by the blatant sexism from her co-worker. "What did you just say?" She demands, as Alex ignores her in favour of looking through some charts. "Did you just call me a nurse?"

Without lifting his head, he responds, "if the white cap fits."

The beeping of a pager draws his eyes down to his waistband. His eyes light up and a triumphant grin lifts the corners of his lips. "It appears I'm wanted by Dr. Sloan in Plastics. Nice to see my efforts are appreciated." Leaning into her personal space, his lips almost brush her ear as he whispers, "enjoy charting."

Alex pushes off the nurses' station and disappears with a swagger and a whistle.

"Jackass," Meredith mutters, scribbling her last few notes into the final chart. She flips the chart shut, placing her pile of completed forms into their proper location in the nurses' filling system.

She places her pen in her lab coat pocket as she dashes towards the hospital library, hoping to find some neurological texts that could shed light on Katie's diagnosis.

* * *

Meredith groaned in annoyance as she slammed another textbook closed, sending a small cloud of dust into the air. She sneezed. So did Dr. Drake.

The kindly man chuckled a little, and offered her a slight smile. The two of them were sitting in two of the uncomfortable plastic chairs lining the walls of Katie's room, piles of medical papers, journals and textbooks littering the floor and chairs around them.

"You'd think the hospital would spring for comfortable chairs for patient's family to sit on," Meredith grumbled under her breath.

Dr. Drake's head jerked up at her voice, and she blushed. He simply offered her a quick grin then turned his head back to the article he was reading.

"Umm, are you going to tell me why my face is not yet stitched up?" came the voice from the young teen on the bed. Katie dropped her issue of Cosmo into her lap and with an eye roll began, "because you seem to think it's important that it is stitched up, and yet the Head of Plastics is not here."

Meredith closed her eyes with a quick sigh, trying to hold herself back from strangling her young patient. Her eyes snapped open as Dr. Drake came to the rescue.

"Well, my dear," he began with a conciliatory smile, belying his own irritation with the beauty queen. "If you would agree to any plastic surgeon, or any surgeon, it could be dealt with now. As it is, Dr. Sloan is in surgery, and will come see you as soon as he is finished. It should be any minute now."

"Well, at least he'll be able to do something," she replied. "I don't see you two making any progress."

Choosing to ignore her, Dr. Drake turned to Meredith, "So, she doesn't have chronic renal failure or acidosis. It's not a tumour because her CT is clean."

Meredith nodded. "What about infection?"

Dr. Drake flipped through Katie's chart for what felt like the hundredth time, "No. There's no white count. She has no CT lesions. No fevers. Nothing in her spinal tap."

"What about an aneurysm?" came a voice from the door.

Meredith's body tensed; that voice was way too familiar. She hazarded a glance up, and her eyes widened. There, leaning against the doorframe, was her one night stand from this morning, standing in dark blue scrubs and a lab coat, smirking at her.

'Crap,' was her only thought.

Turning to the other surgeon by her side, Mark entered the room, grin in full force. "Dr. Mark Sloan," he introduced, hand extended. "New Head of Plastics."

"Dr. James Drake, Head of Neurosurgery, welcome to Seattle Grace." The two shook hands politely, "I've heard many good things about your work in New York."

"Thank you, it's nice to know my reputation precedes me," Mark charmed, all business. "I've heard much of your papers on encephalitis," he paused at the surprised look on Dr. Drake's face. "A…friend…of mine is a Neurosurgeon."

Mark quickly turned to Meredith to avoid any inquiries from Dr. Drake, whose mouth had opened to question. The dark look that had briefly crossed Mark's face disappeared into a steamy smirk. "Meredith, good to see you so soon."

"Mark," she responded through clenched teeth.

Dr. Drake now looked delighted, "you already know Dr. Grey? How nice."

"Yes," Mark began, his flirty grin flashed with amusement. "We've seen a lot of each other, haven't we, Dr. Grey."

Meredith scowled at him, and turned toward the patient. "You're needed on a consult for her forehead laceration. She insisted that the Head of Plastics look at it."

Mark gave her a cheeky grin, and nodded, turning to Katie. The young pageant queen was looking at him in admiration.

"Okay," Meredith spouted quickly, trying to avoid Dr. Drake's curious look. "There's no drug use. Ah no pregnancy. No trauma."

Dr. Drake nodded sadly, "a mystery. Her parents need answers."

Meredith pinched the bridge of her nose as she heard Katie flirting with Mar...Dr. Sloan, telling him all about her pageant talents. Suddenly, she knew. With a gasp she looked up, and grasped Dr. Drake's coat.

"Katie competes in beauty pageants," she announced.

"I know," Dr. Drake looked at her, confused.

"Okay," Meredith began, her tongue spilling all her thoughts as they entered her head. "She has no headaches, no neck pain, her CT's clean; there's no medical proof of an aneurysm."

"Right," Dr. Drake responded in a slow drawl.

"But what if she has an aneurysm anyway?" Meredith was convinced, it had to be right.

"There are no indicators," Dr. Drake argued.

"But she twisted her ankle a few weeks ago when she was practicing for the pageant," Meredith paused, trying to get her rambling mouth to articulate what she really wanted to say. "She fell. When she twisted her ankle, she fell." Another pause to gather her scattered thoughts, "it was no big deal; not even a bump on the head. She got right back up, iced her ankle and everything was fine. A fall so minor her doctor didn't even think to mention it when I was taking her history. But she did fall."

Dr. Drake scrutinized her, "Do you know what the chances are of a minor fall bursting an aneurysm? One in a million! Literally."

Dr. Sloan was also glancing at her from the bed, the iodine swab held immobilized above Katie's head. His eyes appraised her, and seemed to be impressed despite himself.

A heavy sigh dropped from Dr. Drake's lips. "Let's go."

Meredith looked at him, questioningly, "where?"

He smiled slightly, "to find out if Katie is one in a million."

Mark's eyes narrowed as he glanced between the two of them. His lips pursed then spread into a now familiar smirk. "I think I'm going to come with. I'll stitch her up on the way."

"Ugh. Finally!" came the voice of the annoyed teen.


	5. Chapter 5

**_The meeting of two personalities is like the contact of two chemical substances: if there is any reaction, both are transformed. – Carl Jung_**

Meredith stood in the doorway, watching the angiogram results flash across the lab technician's screen. She really hoped her diagnosis was correct, but what were the chances? She stared fixedly at the screen, trying to avoid any glances from the plastic surgeon at her side.

Mark seemed oblivious to her discomfort in his presence, except for the ghost of a smarmy grin dancing over his face. He had chosen a spot as close to her as possible without being obvious, and leaned against the wall, arms crossed over his broad chest, suture kit dangling from his right thumb and forefinger. His face was casual and seemingly disinterested as he too stared at the images.

Dr. Drake was worried glancing through the charts, attempting to find hints of other diagnostic possibilities if Meredith's guess was incorrect. His head jerked up as the lab technician spoke.

"There it is."

"I'll be damned," Dr. Drake breathed out, astonished. "It's minute, but it's there; a sub-arachnoid haemorrhage. She's bleeding into her brain."

Mark's eyebrows lifted, and Meredith swore she heard him say, "Shep would love you," under his breath.

Her head jerked to stare at him, wondering who he meant by 'you'. His eyes widened, as if surprised with what he had said, and a dark sadness flashed across his face before his face resumed its passive expression.

Dr. Drake was beaming. "Excellent catch, Dr. Grey," he cried, patting her on the back. "I will go inform the parents. Book O.R. 3 and I will meet you there in an hour."

Meredith gave him a huge grin as he dashed off, nearly knocking over Alex who had just appeared in the hallway.

"Dr. Sloan," he began eagerly, with a slightly awed expression. "You paged? I'm on your service; Dr. Alex Karev. Is there a surgery for me to scrub in on, a patient to prep?"

"I'm going to stitch up Dr. Grey's beauty queen," Mark began, inclining his head toward Meredith. Alex gave a slight start as he suddenly noticed Meredith's presence beside his surgical god. "You can help me out by getting me a bone dry cappuccino from the coffee cart outside." He handed Alex a crisp bill from his lab coat pocket, and turned toward the bed transporting the young teen.

Meredith snorted as Alex took the bill in shock. "Better a 'nurse' than a gopher," she muttered. Mark and Alex both glanced at her, the former in a sort of admiring amusement, and the latter with an angry blush.

"I'm off," she continued, leaning closer to Alex, unable to prevent herself from gloating. "I have an O.R. to book." She grinned at him, and walked down the hall, studiously avoiding Mark's gaze.

* * *

Meredith smiled at Nurse Tyler as she returned to the post-op ward to complete more charts. This was a pretty great day, despite being so long. She had saved a girl's life; she had a surgery to look forward to; she had the beginnings of friendships with George and Izzie, and wasn't unfriendly with Cristina. So Alex was a jerk, so what?

'And I'm just going to ignore the Mark factor,' she thought. 'He is not here, and I won't let him bother me.'

She saw Alex cross the room to his patient from earlier, and noticed the Chief beside the bed. Meredith paused, her pen held mid-air above the chart, and tried to make her eavesdropping as subtle as possible.

"She's still short of breath," Dr. Webber began. "Did you get an ABG or a chest film?"

"Yes sir, I did." The answer was immediate; it's never good to look bad in front of your boss.

"And what did you see?" The Chief asked, with a restrained patience.

Alex floundered, his right arm reaching up to rub the back of his neck. "Well, uh, I had a lot of patients last…"

The Chief interrupted, patience evaporated, "name the common causes of post-op fever."

Alex continued to fumble, shifting to glance through his chart and notes.

"From your head; not from a book. Don't look it up. Learn it. It should be in your head," Dr. Webber was insistent, not wanting to make an example of Alex, but wanting all the interns in his program to learn. "Name the common causes of post-op fever."

"Uh…ah…the common causes of post-op…" Alex attempted to stall for time, his eyes looking away from the Chief's gaze.

Dr. Webber was no longer tolerant of non-answers. In a loud voice, he asked the room at large, "can anybody name the common causes of post-op fever?"

No one said anything, several interns scrambled for their notes. A few of the nurses flashed malicious grins.

Meredith sighed, she hadn't wanted to draw Dr. Webber's attention to her, but she didn't want to reflect badly on the intern program. So she began with the words that she had probably first heard as a toddler, wandering through this same post-op ward, "wind, water, wound, walking, wonder drugs; the 5 Ws. Most of the time it's wind; splinting or pneumonia. Pneumonia is easy to assume, especially if you're too busy to do the tests."

Dr. Webber frowned at Alex who looked down. Meredith paused; she hadn't really wanted him to get into trouble.

The Chief looked at her appraisingly, "what do you think is wrong with 4B?"

Meredith took a deep breath, and stared, for the first time in years, into those familiar brown eyes. "The 4th W., walking; I think she's a prime candidate for a pulmonary embolus."

"How would you diagnose?" Dr. Webber asked, his eyes not betraying anything.

"Spiral CT. VQ scan. Provide O2," Meredith paused, and quickly confirmed her answer with her memories of Med. School lectures. "Dose with Heparin and consult for an IVC filter."

The Chief gave an abrupt nod to Alex. "Do as she says, and then tell your resident that I want you off this case."

He began to walk away, but paused as he reached Meredith's side. With the slightest hint of a smile, he acknowledged her, "I'd know you anywhere. You're the spitting image of your mother. Welcome to the game."

* * *

Meredith exited the scrub room and sank her aching body into the nearest chair. She didn't think she could move if she tried, despite her bladder's insistence that she get to a bathroom right away. Her muscles were sore and cramped, and her stomach painfully protested its lack of food. But she was happy, deliriously so. She was on a surgical high, and it was like nothing she had ever felt. It was amazing, incredible. Her mind was in raptures. Who would have thought that seeing a human brain up close could create such feelings of euphoria?

"It can't be normal," she mumbled. "Most people don't think like this. Most people don't think brains look cool."

"Most people aren't surgeons," a deep voice interrupted her quiet talking. Mark sank into the chair beside her.

Meredith sighed, feeling too….everything to just get up and avoid him. She supposed some sort of talk was inevitable. "I'm not sleeping with you again."

Mark gave a quick bark of a laugh, "did I ask you to?"

"No, I'm striking pre-emptively."

"I don't want to sleep with you," he spoke, honestly.

Meredith peered up at him, not sure if she should feel offended or relieved. "Oh, okay."

"Not that you weren't good," he began, smirking. "Very flexible."

"But you aren't the type to have one night stands?" she asked, in curious fascination, despite herself.

Mark laughed again, longer this time. "No, I'm all for the one night stands. In fact, I may have one tonight; there are some very promising looking nurses here."

"Ah, so two nights is too much for you. I get it. I support it," Meredith nodded sagely, happy to know that Mark wouldn't pursue her.

"No, that's not it either," he looked at her through narrowed eyes, the blue searching the depths of her green orbs. "I like you, Meredith."

"What?" She was flabbergasted. It was not what she had expected, and certainly not what she wanted.

"In a friends only, way," he continued, with a sort of sheepish blush at her questioning look. "I, um, made a promise recently to never sleep with someone I really respected and liked."

Meredith raised one delicate eyebrow, looking completely confused. "So you sleep with people you hate?"

"No!" He insisted, then paused, "well, sometimes. But usually just with people I don't care anything for. Look, I think we could be friends, therefore, we can't sleep together, because the last time I slept with someone I thought of as a friend, it ended….badly. So, no sex."

"I didn't want any," Meredith reminded him.

"Sure you didn't, darling," he zinged back, the smarmy glint in his eye replacing the darkened pained look.

"Oh, shut up."

Mark winked as he got up, "nice surgery, Grey. I'll see you around."

"See ya," she waved him off with a careless flop of her right hand.

"What was that about?" Cristina asked, her face a mixture of jealousy and curiosity. She replaced Mark in the seat beside Meredith.

"I don't know," Meredith answered slowly, still bewildered by the discussion. "I think we might be friends."

Cristina threw her a confused look, her face scrunched up in annoyance. "What? Why?"

"We slept together last night," Meredith answered with a level of honesty born from her extreme tiredness. Then her eyes widened, "oops," she muttered in a low tone. "Probably shouldn't have said that. This shift was way too long."

"So you get the good surgery and the one night stand with McSexy," Cristina frowned.

"Yeah," Meredith expelled with a heavy breath. "McSexy?"

"No?"

Meredith shook her head. "McSteamy?"

"Oh yeah," Cristina offered her an approving nod. "You're lucky that surgery wasn't for cardio. We just might be friends. You should get some sleep; you look like crap."

Meredith glanced at her, with a look of faint surprise, "I look better than you."

"Not possible," Cristina gave her a quick pat on the shoulder and left.

Meredith shifted, the realities her body was screaming at her finally seeping into her brain. She needed to get up, and change, eat, pee and sleep. Hopefully in that order.

Dr. Drake left the scrub room, pulling his green dragonfly patterned scrub cap from his grey hair. He gave her a big grin as he pulled Katie's chart from the nurses' station. "Great work, Dr. Grey. I hope to have you on my service often; you already show promise in Neuro."

Meredith grinned at him, happily, "thank you. It was a wonderful surgery."

"It certainly was," he looked at her kindly. "Now I know you're done shift. Go home, get some rest."

She gave him one last smile before easing herself out of the chair. As Meredith walked down the hall toward the interns' locker room, she reflected on her amazing day. New friends, recognition and surgery; what could be better? She had started the day off with hot sex, even if it was never going to happen again.

Meredith needed to make one stop to make before she could collapse in a tired heap in the dusty bedroom of her mother's house. But no matter what state her mother was in tonight, she doubted it could take away from her perfect day.


	6. Chapter 6

**_Sometimes I wonder if men and women really suit each other. Perhaps they should live next door and just visit now and then. - Katherine Hepburn_**

Derek was having a terrible day. A terrible week. A terrible two weeks. Actually, if he was perfectly honest the past few years hadn't exactly been peachy, but the last two weeks? Definitely beyond bad.

Today was just too much. Too many things piling up. He had been swamped with consults at his New York practice; most just by phone as he sat in his swanky office, staring at the stark-but-chic wall decorations Addison had insisted were in vogue.

Addison. Not even going there.

Where was he? Oh, right, phone consults. Derek hated them. It seemed so impersonal just to talk to the doctor about diagnosis and prognosis without even saying a word to the patient. Where was the connection? He supposed that hundreds of phone consults a week were an indicator of how valued his opinion was as a neurosurgeon, but he hated it. It limited cutting time. He only got to see the inside of an O.R. when he was specifically requested. He missed the spontaneity of hospital work.

Not that he had been doing well at hospitals today. Nope. Of course two of the three surgeries he had booked for today had to go badly. He knew, logically, that almost all of the cases he accepted were those deemed too difficult for your average run-of-the-mill neurosurgeon—if such a thing existed; surgeons were never run-of-the-mill. But he had never had two patients die in the same day….ever. Definitely not a good day.

Derek stared at the half empty bottle of scotch in front of him and wondered, idly, what had happened to the rest of the harsh liquid. It wasn't his favourite whisky, just the first single malt that he had found in the liquor store. Far too much peat for his tastes.

'Note to self,' he thought. 'Not buying this brand again.'

A phone rang; his cell phone. Derek lifted himself from his sprawled position on the rough beige carpet, and stumbled to the bedside table where his phone lay. He flipped it open and collapsed onto the rumpled off-white sheets of the hotel bed. The room was spinning.

'That must be where the scotch went,' Derek thought, pleased that his drink-filled mind was able to form logical conclusions.

"'Lo," he slurred into his phone.

"Derek, man, where are you?" Shouted the voice from the other end, over what sounded like loud cheering.

It took Derek a few seconds to process who was on the other end, "Weiss?"

"Yeah, who else? Why aren't you here? Boys night at the sports bar, remember? You and Mark are supposed to be here! I'm sitting with the boys watching the Yankees win, and you aren't here cheering beside me."

Derek was silent, his brain trying to piece everything together.

Weiss continued, "I don't blame Mark for forgetting, he's probably off chasing some hot piece of ass, but how could you not remember? Didn't notice Addi getting all dolled up for a night of cocktails with Savvy and the girls? It's our night of freedom, and you're not enjoying it!"

"That's because I'm a little too free," Derek mumbled, the nausea and pain returning to his stomach; the real reason for his terrible two weeks flashing, once again, before his eyes.

"Huh? Did you say something Derek?"

"I'll be there in ten, Weiss. I'm not too far away." He hung up the phone.

Weiss didn't know. Addison was going out for drinks with the girls as if nothing had happened. Weiss was expecting Mark to show up. He still thought there was Derek-and-Addison. There wasn't. There was only nausea.

It was all Derek could see when he closed his eyes; his wife and his best friend, on his bed, on his favourite sheets. Naked, sweaty, flushed. Backs arching, crying out, grunts, gasps, sighs. It was so dirty. Derek felt unclean thinking about it. He felt violated.

He hadn't been back to the brownstone since then; living in some cheap hotel instead. He just couldn't bring himself to look at her, to confront her since then. The thought of it just made him sick. Mark. His best friend. His ex-best friend. And his…..ex-wife?

He didn't know if he could do divorce. Shepherds didn't divorce. Nope. No sir. No siree-bob. His family would not be pleased. Though, the idea of adultery was probably not so delightful either.

Stumbling over to the mirror, he gave himself a quick glance. His eyes were bloodshot, with the dark circles underneath highlighting the pained look. His face was drawn and pale, with at least two days' worth of stubble. This was not high class New York neurosurgeon Derek, but that was almost a relief. It had been a role he found difficult to maintain.

He quickly pulled on some black slacks, and a dark blue button up, trying to make the slightest effort to look like he hadn't drowned in a bottle of whisky. Addison was keeping it a secret; Satan was all about telling lies. He hadn't decided whether to stick to her wishes or not. He didn't really feel like answering any of the awkward questions.

Derek heaved a final sigh and downed one last swig of scotch, straight from the bottle, before screwing on the cap.

He grabbed his keys, wallet, and cell phone and got ready to continue with his role of Derek, the successful surgeon, and contented husband.

* * *

The taxi pulled up in front of the darkened brownstone; it looked the same. Somehow, he would have thought it would look different. He passed a few bills to the driver, and stumbled onto the sidewalk.

Maybe it did look different, he decided; more different than just the fog from the scotch and beer could account for. The stairs to the front door looked longer, anyway. His house, his expensive Manhattan house; not a home. He had never really felt he could relax in it. Probably a bad sign, right?

He had made it to the landing, and now paused, uncertain if he should ring the bell, or use his key. What was the proper etiquette for returning after a fortnight's absence to the house you co-own with your adulterous bitch of a wife?

He settled for using his key. He had one, may as well use it. The front hall was dark, but there was a light on in the kitchen. He staggered in that direction, and then straightened, not wanting to appear at too much of a disadvantage. Pulling in all his mental reserves he concentrated on walking as calmly and well co-ordinated as he could.

Addison was sitting at the kitchen table, nursing a mug of now lukewarm tea, staring off into space. He paused at the doorway to study her, gorgeous as ever, her long flamed coloured hair pinned up away from her face. She was wearing some designer dress, black and ivory, and black four inch heels; ever feminine and put-together. Her perfect appearance was marred by the mascara streaks running down her pale cheeks.

"Addison…" he croaked.

She started, eyes wide, as her head snapped to the doorway. There was a pain and confusion in her face, unlike any he had ever seen. Perhaps she wasn't sure if she had wanted him or Mark to be in the doorway?

He pushed that thought aside and stepped into the room, sinking quickly into a chair in front of her.

"Derek," she began, her voice cracking. A new wave of fresh tears streamed from the corners of her eyes.

"Shhh," he soothed. "I was out with Weiss and the boys," he noticed the frightened look in her wide eyes. "No, I didn't tell them, and no, Mark wasn't there." Again, he wasn't sure which reassurance she most wanted to hear.

Derek studied her, as if seeing her for the first time in years. Then jolted a little as he realized that might be the case. "Weiss was talking," he continued slowly, his eyes now dropped to the table, as his index finger traced the grain patterns on the smooth wood surface. "He was talking about all the great times he has with Savvy, and all the great sex. And I…I realized that it has been a while. Not only for the sex," he fumbled, now embarrassed, "but for us to have a good time together, in any capacity. I've been absent."

"Yeah," Addison exhaled the word, barely giving it any volume. She looked astonished, and stared at Derek, unsure of what to make of him.

"Not that that is an excuse for what you've done," he accused, voice grim. "But I'll admit I haven't been perfect. Now I'm going to bed; I'm taking the guest room. Goodnight."

He stood up abruptly and left the room. Addison turned back to staring at the wall, carelessly fiddling with the tea bag in the tepid liquid of her mug.


	7. Chapter 7

**"_A bridge is only a bridge, a highway in the sky. The ferryboats were close to the foaming heart of the matter – something to love." – Herb Caen_**

Meredith was quickly learning that it was not every day that an intern was awarded the opportunity to scrub in on an amazing surgery. And it seemed that today would be no different; even her mocha latte for Bailey; a kind, thoughtful gift, NOT a bribe; had done nothing to change the fact that she was responding to the trauma pages today.

She had plenty of other things to think about though, like finding roommates to share her mother's big house. Since putting up the bulletin in the interns' locker room, Meredith had been badgered by countless applicants; none of whom she thought she could stand for more than five minutes. Nobody was suitable; she just didn't think she could live with anyone she had talked to without going insane. It didn't help that George and Izzie had decided that they would be perfect roommates, and were now following her around with puppy dog eyes, begging and pleading to be let in.

"They'd probably wee on the carpet," she muttered, then shook herself in disgust. "Okay, analogy taken too far."

So, basically, it was a problem, because she had decided to keep the house. She had even told her mother, not that her mother had understood. The house was paid for in full, but with taxes and utilities, she needed some sort of supplement. Meredith supposed she could advertise to the general public, but it felt almost cruel to subject some random friendly roommate to the horrors of intern hours; at least if her roommates were hospital staff they would understand.

"It will work itself out," she mumbled. "Focus on your job." Meredith juggled the charts in her arms, balancing the folders carefully so that she didn't lose any paper. Once satisfied, she stepped up to the elevator to head up to the surgical floor. All these files needed to go to the nurses' station before she could attend to the trauma pages from the pit.

She pressed the button to call for an elevator, and stood watching the lights above the door indicating the dropping metal cage. Hearing a cough and an accompanying groan behind her, she started and turned.

"What's the matter with you?" Meredith asked a grumpy-looking Mark as she quickly studied his features. His skin was paler than usual, with flushed points on his cheeks. He looked a little shaky, and overly bundled for August in Seattle, regardless of the rain. The expression on his face was just miserable.

"Seattle has ferryboats," he replied, with a grimace.

Meredith's eyebrow lifted in question, "….yes."

"I didn't know that," he said, his voice sounding more pained with every word. "I've been living here 6 weeks. I didn't know there were ferryboats."

"Seattle is surrounded by water on three sides. There have to be ferryboats." Meredith was beyond puzzled, she couldn't figure out why this would cause such a problem. She glanced back at the elevator as the doors dinged open. Mark followed her on.

"And it's raining," Mark was just pouting now, sounding a little like a petulant child. "It never rains this much in New York. I miss Manhattan. All this rain is making me sick." He punctuated this comment with a cough.

Meredith fought to hide her grin, "I'm pretty sure New York has ferryboats."

Mark sent her a dirty glare, "I was trying to escape them."

"The evil ferryboats?" Meredith bit her lower lip. "What did they ever do to you?"

Mark looked away, the pained grimace returning. In a voice so low, Meredith wasn't certain he had meant for her to hear, he replied, "it's more what I did to them."

Meredith's mouth opened, and then closed. Whatever it was, it was obviously more than just ferryboats; and it was obviously painful for him to think and talk about. "You'll get used to the rain," she changed tracks instead. "I kind of love it; there is nothing like lying in bed cozy under the blankets watching the rain outside." She lifted a hand to forestall him. "Alone under the blankets."

"I wouldn't share them with you anyway," he retorted, a trace of his usual flirtatious behaviour returning.

"I wouldn't want you to," she shook her head with the air of a martyr. "You're probably a blanket hog."

"Hey!" he blurted, rising to the bait. "I resent that assumption."

Meredith just grinned. "Look, get whichever lackey you have today to get your coffee, and find some nurse to have fun with in an on call room, and you'll feel better."

"Ah, Grey," he began, with a genuine smile now gracing his handsome face. "You understand me so well."

"Yeah?" she inquired, with a hint of a challenge in her eye, "then sometime later we're going to have to discuss your thing against ferryboats."

The elevator door dinged as it arrived at the surgical floor. Meredith did one last check to make sure that none of her files were about to fall and stepped out onto the floor. Looking back at Mark, she lifted one eyebrow, squeezing her elbows together to avoid being hit by the medical personal trying to dash into the enclosed space.

Mark nodded and said with a sigh, "we'll talk later."


	8. Chapter 8

**_There are more pleasant things to do than beat up people. - Muhammad Ali_**

Meredith stood at the side of the O.R., her eyes fixed on the frail, battered body lying on the table. She was focused intensely on this slip of a girl who had done nothing to deserve the beating she received, and who should be anywhere but in this sterile environment, being hovered over by a team of surgeons and nurses, frantically passing instruments, sponges and sutures. Meredith hadn't really been sure what to expect from answering the trauma pages, but a young rape victim wearing the same shoes she had worn this morning was not it.

She probably should be paying attention to the surgeries, to the work of the three talented doctors standing over this woman. In fact, her job was to learn from their work, but she couldn't focus on anything other than this young woman, feeling sadness for her situation and unbridled anger toward the man who felt he had the right to inflict this damage.

Her attention shifted as Dr. Drake began to speak something other than fast orders for drills and scopes, "She's going to spend a long time in recovery and rehab." His voice was low and sad; his normally cheerful expression replaced by dull eyes peering out from above his surgical mask. He didn't look up, but focused intently on repairing the subdural haematoma under his hands.

"If she survives," Dr. Burke added; his hands and eyes riveted to the girl's chest area, as he worked to repair the damages to her epiglottis, esophagus and trachea.

"What is she, like 5'2"? 100 pounds?" Dr. Drake looked to Mark for confirmation. Mark nodded abruptly, his hands busy with the delicate repairs to the shattered fragments of her cheekbone. Dr. Drake's eyes were dark, "She's still breathing after what he did to her. If they catch the guy, they should castrate him."

"See how shredded her hands are?" Dr. Burke asked. "She tried to fight back."

Mark's eyes crinkled slightly at the corners, as he put in his first contribution to the discussion. "Tried to?" he began, with pride in his voice. "Rape kit came back negative. She kicked his ass."

Burke's eyebrows lifted in appreciation. "So, we have a warrior among us."

Meredith couldn't take it any more, them talking about her without knowing her. "Allison." She suddenly realized she had spoken allowed when the three surgeons turned to her. Too late to take it back though. "Her name is Allison."

A hint of lightness flashed in Dr. Drake's eyes; Mark's eyes looked almost grateful as they locked with hers. He nodded, and repeated after her, "Allison."

The three returned their intense focus to the operating table, and continued working without a sound until Burke lifted a piece of flesh from the open body cavity. His eyebrows knotted in confusion as he brought the clamp closer to inspect.

"I think I may have found the cause of our rupture," he announced. "Does anyone know what this is?"

Meredith was pleased to have something to concentrate on other Allison's body lying supine on the cold, metal table. Her eyes widened in shock as she realized what Dr. Burke was holding up. "Oh my god."

"What?" Burke asked. "Spit it out, Grey."

"She bit it off," Meredith breathed out, astonished.

"Bit off what?" Burke just looked confused.

Meredith shook her head slowly, her respect for Allison rising dramatically. She gestured vaguely toward the clamp in Burke's hand, "that's his…..penis." She coughed, "she bit off his penis."

All the males present gave a collective wince, and Burke quickly dropped the clamp into a nearby tray.

* * *

Meredith's day was not improving at all. She now had custody of the penis until the police could send someone over to pick it up. Not exactly what she had expected when she got up this morning, and certainly not the type of day she would normally like to share with a penis. She preferred them attached to hot, skilled men, and not belonging to any rapists. And she had lied to her boss. She had been trying to avoid seeing the Chief because of the conversation she expected from him, and she had finally had it. He had asked about her mother. Everyone was expecting her to be off doing something great with her life; not wasting away in a home as her mind gradually disappeared. So, she had lied to him; anything to keep the secret. He just had to mention that he used to change her diapers too. It was very disconcerting to think that her boss had seen her naked, regardless of her age at the time.

Then again, Mark was her boss, and he'd seen her naked much more recently. That should probably be more embarrassing.

She approached the nurses' station to see George filling in some charts. Meredith placed the cooler on the counter and grabbed a chair and some of her own paper work.

"What's that?" She looked up to see George's eyes fixed on the cooler.

Shaking her head she sing-songed, "don't ask. You don't want to know."

George turned to her, his eyes earnest. "I want to know, really."

"Do you really want to know?" Meredith's eyebrow lifted. At George's nod, she shrugged and continued. "It's a severed penis."

George's face turned a little green. "Okay," he gulped down the bile rising in his throat. "I didn't really want to know."

Meredith's head lifted from her charting as a bickering Cristina and Alex approached the desk. Her eyes narrowed slightly at Alex, having only just found out that he was now a part of their intern group. The jerk.

"Did you just call me an ovarian sister?" Cristina barked, outraged. Alex just shrugged and walked away. Cristina turned to Meredith and George, "since when does the possession of ovaries become an insult?"

Meredith and George just shrugged, knowing better than to further incense a riled Cristina. "Meredith is carrying a penis around in a jar," George offered, helpfully.

"Oh," Cristina's eyes lit up with a familiar gleam that appeared when she was in a close radius of anything gory. "From the rape surgery?" She was already lifting the lid to peak inside.

"Yeah," she replied, "and it's not a jar, it's a cooler."

Cristina shut the lid and gave a ghost of a grin, "talk about taking a bite out of crime." She snatched a handful of charts from the desk and walked off.

"You okay?" George asked, turning to Meredith.

"Yeah. Allison's shoes are…" Meredith just paused; not sure if she actually wanted to say what she was thinking, not sure if what she was thinking was completely irrational, and not used to opening up to anyone.

"What?" George prompted.

Meredith gave him a quick appraising look. He seemed genuinely interested in what she was thinking; it was kind of unusual for someone to take such an interest in her. "The rape victim, Allison, her shoes," she began. "I have the same ones in my locker, and I normally never wear them because they're not comfortable but today I did. And she was wearing the same shoes and it's just…" Meredith paused, not even sure what she meant to say, "stupid and I'm tired and forget it."

"Do you know what you need?" George grinned, eyebrows raised.

"No," she exclaimed, trying to ignore his pointed look. It really would make her feel better. "It's sick and twisted. We said last time was the last time."

George's look faltered. "You've been doing it without me?" Meredith accused.

George screwed up his face in his best peer pressuring effort, "Nancy Reagan lied. You can't just say no. Come on."

"Do you know what would happen if anyone knew?" Meredith hissed. She wasn't exactly sure if anything would happen, other than the other interns making fun of them. Although, they were working, and Dr. Bailey would probably prefer for them to be finishing their charting and other menial tasks.

"I'm doing it," George announced, decided. "You can join me," he continued, pulling her chair along with him, "or stay here and be miserable."

Meredith giggled and grabbed her cooler. She did need some cheering up.


	9. Chapter 9

**_Whatever you do will be insignificant, but it is very important that you do it. __- Mahatma Gandhi_**

The babies were wriggling in their cots, tiny fists up stretched with new eyes staring at the wonder that was their own fingers. One little girl was twitching in her sleep, her legs making slow progress at kicking the pink blanket from her diminutive body. Another boy had his face screwed up in displeasure, as if objecting to the rather hideous green cap that was warming his head.

Meredith bit her lip and glanced to her left to make sure George had left for his code page. Her eyes softened and the corner of her mouth lifted. "You are really cute," she whispered. This was making her feel better, but she wasn't sure she was this person; the girl who got all mushy looking at babies. Her mother would not approve.

Suddenly her eye was drawn to the face of a crying baby boy as his face took on a cyanotic tinge. Quickly scanning the nursery and seeing it was empty, Meredith dashed inside. She inhaled shakily as she approached the cot; knowing she wasn't supposed to be there, but driven to check that the baby was okay.

Meredith placed her cooler on a nearby table and placed her stethoscope ear buds into her ears, pulling open the baby's onesie to expose his chest. She gave the baby a soft smile as she breathed onto the chest piece of the stethoscope. "I'm sorry, this may be a little cold," she murmured.

She placed the chest piece to the right of the boy's sternum, listening for the familiar whooshing sound. Meredith frowned, there was a definite murmur.

Her eyes snapped up as a young woman in purple scrubs entered the nursery. The woman looked at her in shock, and then her eyes narrowed. "What are you doing in here?"

"The, ah…" Meredith faltered. She really didn't have a good excuse; she knew she wasn't supposed to be in here. "There are no tests ordered, and the baby has a murmur."

"I know," the woman snapped, obviously not pleased.

"He turned blue," Meredith almost pleaded, trying to make her understand that she didn't normally try to steal patients.

"You're in surgery," the woman began, arms crossing over her chest. "You're not authorized to be in here. Do you know how much trouble you could get into for this?"

Meredith chose to ignore that thought; what she avoided thinking about couldn't hurt her. "Are you going to do any tests?"

Now the PEDS doctor just looked angry. "It's a benign systolic ejection murmur," she stated. "It goes away with age."

"So, you're not going to do any tests?" Meredith wasn't sure why she thought this was so important, but some tiny voice in her head was telling her not to concede this point.

"He's not your patient," she argued. "He's not even on your service."

Meredith knew it was a losing battle, but she couldn't give up, "are you sure it's benign?"

The PEDS doctor just opened the door for her to leave, "I'm a doctor too, you know."

There was nothing more she could say. Meredith just grabbed her cooler and left.

* * *

She found herself standing outside Allison's room, staring at the battered body now wrapped in thick swathes of bandages covering the countless stitches. Meredith's eyes roved over the machines monitoring her breathing and pulse, and all the other necessities of life. It seemed so opposing to the body's integrity to see tubes stretching out from all points of this frail figure.

Meredith felt someone come to stand beside her. She turned her head to see Mark, his face haggard, eyes dull.

"I've called every hospital in the county," he began with a heavy exhalation. "Sooner or later the guy that did this is going to seek medical attention and when he does, that penis you're carrying around is going to nail him. The bastard."

Meredith nodded, turning to study his features more closely. "You okay?"

Mark shook his head and ran a hand over his face. "No," he shook his head again. "Not at all. I don't understand how anyone could…." He paused to take a gulping breath. "I sleep with women. A lot of women. Frequently. I rarely sleep with women more than once. I don't have to respect them as people. I don't particularly care if they like me as a person. But…." Mark's eyes looked at her, almost pleading for her to understand. "But I do respect their bodies. I would never do something a woman didn't want. Ever. I don't see how anyone could…."

Meredith nodded in understanding, and offered him a tight smile. Mark's head dropped against the glass wall to Allison's room, his eyes shut tight.

"Where's her family?" Meredith asked, attempting to move on from the obviously painful topic.

"Doesn't have any," Mark replied, his head not lifting.

"No siblings?"

"No," Mark's eyes opened with a sigh, his head finally turning to her. "Both parents are dead. She moved to Seattle three weeks ago," a sad mockery of an ironic smile touched his mouth. "Welcome to the city."

"Yeah," Meredith nodded. Her eyes shook away from Allison's still form. "Your bad day's not getting any better then."

"Nope," Mark confirmed. "It did have one ray of hope, which you missed. You shouldn't have left the scrub room so quickly to take custody of the penis. Drake and Burke had a pissing contest."

Meredith's eyebrows furrowed. "Seriously?"

"Yep," Mark dropped into the chair beside Allison's bed. "Seems they're both in line to be the next Chief of Surgery. The competition's intense."

"I can't picture Dr. Drake being particularly aggressive about it," she replied, sceptically.

Mark gave an actual grin then. "Oh, he's not. Very calm, confident and casual. It pisses Burke off even more. I almost thought it would come to blows."

Meredith shot him a disbelieving look.

"Okay, maybe not," he conceded. "But I didn't help by hinting that there was another reason why I left New York."

"Other than the ferryboats?" Meredith questioned.

Mark's open demeanour immediately clouded, "yeah."

Meredith winced, feeling bad for bringing up another painful topic for him. She should just escape, "I…uhh…have to do something. I have to go."

Mark barely nodded, his gaze fixed on Allison, "I'll sit with her."

* * *

Meredith was wandering across the balcony searching for Dr. Burke. If she couldn't do anything for Allison, she should at least be of some help to the baby up in the nursery. She spotted the familiar music note scrub cap, and took up the chase.

"Dr. Burke!"

He turned to her in acknowledgement.

"There's a baby up in PEDS and I saw him have a tet spell; and I think hear a murmur." Meredith announced all in one breath; she was desperate for someone to hear her.

"Did PEDS call us for a consult?" Dr. Burke asked; his face inscrutable.

Meredith opened her mouth and shut it again before continuing on, "actually, no, they're not doing anything about it."

"So you want me to what?" Burke's eyes bored into hers.

"If you could just go up and look at him…" Meredith continued, hopeful.

Burke hummed a refusal under his breath, "Not without a PEDS consultant. I'm a busy man Grey, and there are rules. Look, it's not like I'm the Chief of something."

He walked off toward the stairs. Meredith turned away with a sign of resignation.

"Grey?"

Meredith turned back to Dr. Burke.

"You worked with Dr. Drake on the Katie Bryce case, right? Helped diagnose the aneurysm?" His eyes were narrowed in appraisal as he remained motionless, halfway down the staircase, but turned towards her.

Meredith nodded, unsure of what to say.

Dr. Burke pursed his lips and started back up the stairs. "Let's go up to PEDS. I'll need you to do an EKG, chest x-ray and an echo. I don't have all day."

Meredith did her best to hide her grin, "you're a busy man."

Dr. Burke nodded at her, "I'm a busy man."


	10. Chapter 10

Meredith shuffled down the hallway towards the tunnels, her tired mind honing in on the gurneys now claimed as the spot for her and her fellow interns. While her day was improving with the possibility of surgery with Burke, still carrying a penis was a constant reminder of Allison's pain.

She spotted George by the vending machine and snagged the bag of chips from his grip, walking past him before he could find the time to do more than grimace.

Meredith flopped onto an available spot on a gurney, too tired to even glare at Alex's form beside her. She resorted to grumbling about him under her breath as she laid the cooler to rest beside her, before mustering up enough energy to speak. "So, the police say they can't send the crack crime scene guy down for hours. So, I have to spend the night with the penis."

Out of the corner of her eye she saw the look form on Alex's face and quickly lifted a hand to forestall him. "Alex, don't say it." She was not in the mood to deal with his lewd comments.

Alex's face screwed up tightly for a second before returning to an impassive slate. "Oh, it was too easy anyway," he let out in a deep exhalation.

George threw himself onto the space beside Izzie and in an outburst of frustration exclaimed, "Who here feels like that they have no idea what they're doing?"

He raised one hand into the air. Meredith followed, noting with amusement that Cristina and Izzie seemed to have the same idea. Alex didn't, but she didn't really care about him anyway.

"I mean are we supposed to be learning something?" George continued in an angry rant. "Because I don't feel like I'm learning anything."

"Except how not to sleep," Izzie added in a defeated tone.

"You know it's like there's this wall," Cristina began, offering her contribution to the communal venting of frustration. "The attendings and the residents are over there being surgeons. And we're over here being…"

'Oh, my turn,' Meredith thought, but was unable to come up with something more than the out loud expression of her own inner rambling. "…suturing, code running, lab delivering, penis minders."

"I hate being an intern," Alex exclaimed. Meredith glanced his way, thankful that at least he was feeling what they were feeling, no matter what she thought of him.

The five tired interns looked up to see Bailey standing in the open doorway, staring at them as if to ask what right they think they have to a break. They all stared back until her gesture snapped them to attention. With a tired heave, Meredith moved to standing, grabbed her cooler and scrambled out after her peers.

* * *

Spotting Dr. Burke in the hallway, Meredith gave chase, eager to see if her suspicions had been correct. She caught up with his long strides, and turned to him in question. "Well?"

"It's a birth defect; tetralogy of Fallot with pulmonary atresia," Burke clarified. "You were right. Book an O.R. for tomorrow."

Meredith just barely avoided releasing a relieved sigh. She had been right, and they were going to do something to fix the problem. "Thank you, Dr. Burke, for checking on this for me. I know it wasn't typical consult procedure."

Burke examined her briefly through narrowed eyes before giving her a curt nod. He walked off at his usual brisk pace to speak to the parents.

Meredith took a deep breath and allowed herself a slight grin. It was something, on this awful day, to have made the life of someone better. "I was right," she whispered, equally surprised and happy.

* * *

Meredith slowly eased back and forth in the wooden rocking chair, her eyes focused on her very tiny patient. A small smile played across her features as she finally had something more positive to look at than the red and white cooler which was sitting on a nearby counter. Her glance took in the little boy being examined by the PEDS intern as he squirmed under his blue blanket.

The intern looked towards Meredith, and spoke in an apologetic tone, "his heart surgery is scheduled for the morning." She paused, "I really did think I was right, you know?"

"I know," Meredith tried to gather her thoughts to be reassuring. "We almost never are. We're interns; we're not supposed to be right. And when we are it's completely shocking."

The PEDS intern nodded slowly. "Are you…?" Her speech was stilted and hesitant, "I mean being an intern do you feel…"

Meredith knew what she needed, and was happy to provide it. "Terrified," she finished for her. "100% of the time."

The intern gave her a relieved smile. "Good. It's not just me."

With an exhausted chuckle, Meredith simply answered, "no." She watched the intern leave and continued to smile as she enjoyed the simple pleasure of rocking in a comfortable seat.

* * *

Walking along the hallway at a slow shuffle, Meredith's tired eyes took in Mark's form staring vacantly at a computer screen. Every so often his eyes would lift to Allison's still form in through the clear glass walls opposite him.

"Well," Meredith muttered, "at least I look better than him."

Mark's scrubs and lab coat looked rumpled, matching his unkempt hair and the bags under his blue eyes. Meredith eased her way towards him, placing the cooler beside the charts on the desk. "How is she?"

Mark answered, "no change," without turning to her.

Feeling a slight tug of concern she asked, "have you been here all night?"

Mark hummed some semblance of a positive answer, his gaze still focused on the computer monitor.

Meredith rested her hip against the desk. "I've been up in PEDS. There's this baby up in nursery. He's brand new; no one's neglected him or damaged him yet. How do we get from there to here? She's wearing my shoes and someone's beat the crap out of her. And she's got nobody." She exhaled a heavy sigh, "I understand that."

"Yeah," Mark breathed out, "me too." Then his eyes lifted to her and narrowed in confusion. "Wait, what are you talking about? What about your mother? She'd be here ordering all the surgeons around." He gets up to wash his hands and lets out a scoffing laugh. "She'd fly these cowboys in from Prague to do these amazing medical procedures."

Trying to ignore the sharp twisting in her gut, Meredith responded with a grimace, "that's true. I do have my mother." Her brain zoomed in on his earlier comment as her eyebrows knotted together. "You have no one?"

A now familiar dark look crossed Mark's face; he turned away. "I don't know anymore." Meredith watched with invasive curiosity as his face lifted toward the ceiling and his eyes blinked rapidly.

Her close inspection was interrupted by the loud beeps which erupted from Allison's room. Meredith and Mark snapped to attention and ran into the sterile room. Meredith slammed her palm into the code button as Mark pulled out a pen light to examine Allison's pupils.

"Her ICP is doubled," he announced with a curse. "Page Drake, and get an O.R. prepped for a craniotomy." Nurses started rushing into the room as Mark barked orders for IVs and blood gas tests.

* * *

Meredith leaned her head back against the wall, thankful for its solid presence supporting her body weight. She held the cooler in her arms, and tipped her head slightly to the side, resting her left temple against the chilly metal edge of the O.R. board.

Mark paced in front of her. Every few minutes his hands would lift to run through his hair, or to drag along his face. He snapped to attention as Dr. Drake exited the O.R. hallway.

Dr. Drake stood in front of them, with a sad smile in response to their obvious concern for Allison. "I had to leave her skull flap off until the pressure in her brain goes down," he offered in lieu of comforting reassurance.

Meredith gave a pained grimace. "She's not going to make it, is she?" Meredith and Dr. Drake both tactfully ignored Mark's flinch.

"She's going to be fine," Dr. Drake affirmed.

Meredith had heard enough doctor-speak in her lifetime to be able to interpret that statement. She continued for him, "if she ever wakes up."

He gave a slight nod, "if she ever wakes up."

Both Dr. Drake and Meredith jumped at the growl that escaped Mark before he stalked away.

* * *

Meredith stood, hands clasped in front of her, thankfully no longer charged with carrying a severed penis in a cooler. She had been relieved to hand it off to the police; she felt much cleaner without carrying the evidence of a vicious attack.

"He just had to mention changing my diapers," she mumbled, ignoring the confused glance from the intern beside her. "Way to make me feel like a child."

Dr. Burke's voice drew her attention back to the O.R. table in front of her, and it's very small occupant. "We'll be using a median approach for a transventricular repair with a right ventriculostomy." He turned his focus from the gathered room of students to one of the scrub nurses. "Let's open him up. 15 blade, please."

Meredith's eyes honed in on the starting surgery. She admired Burke's speed and efficiency. His O.R. ran like a well-oiled machine, the nurses knowing just what to pass him and when.

"Grey!"

Meredith's focused snapped to Burke. "Yes, sir?"

Without lifting his eyes from the tiny sternum he ordered, "go scrub in. When we're finished cracking the baby's chest, I'll let you hold the clamp."

Meredith couldn't believe her luck. "Seriously?" she questioned, excitedly.

Burke shot an appraising glance her way. "Don't make me change my mind."

There was no further hesitation. "I'm going."

* * *

Meredith was back staring through the nursery window at the small adorable figures squirming in their cots. She was feeling much happier now that she was relieved of the penis, and had scrubbed in on a surgery. The babies were pretty cute too.

Maybe that explained the temporary insanity that resulted in what came out of her mouth. "Okay, fine. George and Izzie, you can move into the house."

George and Izzie began to cheer and dance about, thanking her profusely. Meredith continued to stare at the tiny blanketed infants.

In a sort of belated realization of what she had done, she turned to Cristina.  
I can't believe I caved."

With her usual sardonic look, Cristina nodded at the nursery window. "I blame the babies. They make you toxic." She wandered off.

* * *

Meredith walked up to the elevator, finally ready to leave for the day. She looked up to see Mark, clad in his black leather jacket, clutching a cardboard coffee cup as he leaned tiredly against the wall.

"Day is over," he began, acknowledging her presence. "She woke up."

"I know," Meredith smiled. "And we got the guy."

The two doctors both looked lighter and happier. "So, this talk we're going to have, about the ferryboats?" Meredith asked with a raised brow.

Mark studied her face briefly before smirking. "I'm so taking the stairs this time."

He walked off to the stairwell, as the elevator doors dinged open. Meredith shook her head, and entered the elevator with a grin.


	11. Chapter 11

**_My wife and I were happy for 20 years - then we met. - Rodney Dangerfield_**

Derek sat in the bland beige waiting room with his right hand massaging the pain in his temple. He had given up on finding a suitable magazine to read ten minutes ago; having had no real interest in Martha Stewart Living, Good Housekeeping, or a four month old issue of Time. The muted walls reminded him far too much of his own spartan office, and the washed out landscapes hanging in gilded frames showed no drama to hold his eye.

And so he sat, on the uncomfortable grey chair which matched the other 7 lining the waiting room walls, waiting for Addison. This entire thing had been her idea, and for some unknown reason he had agreed to it. Of course, she would be late. The story of their lives the past few years; surgeries always take precedent over their marriage. She was a great surgeon, he respected that. They both were great surgeons, and great surgeons need surgeries. But to have a great marriage also takes time and effort; and Derek wasn't sure they were able to give it.

The ache in Derek's right temple was growing into a sharper throb with each sound of a popped bubble from the gum chewing secretary behind the wooden desk. She had given up trying to flirt with him after several minutes of grunted responses and barely concealed glares, and returned to her game of solitaire and her gum chewing. Derek felt a little guilty for his rude dismissal; even though he wasn't the type to flirt back like Mar—some guys were, growing up with his mother and four sisters had taught him to respect women, and at least respond kindly to their advances. He just wasn't in the mood, or feeling particularly loving towards females lately.

The office door cracked open and Addison walked in—finally. She glanced in his direction, offering a nod and a brave attempt at a smile. The secretary lifted her eyes to the newcomer, and Derek watched them widen slightly as they took in her immaculate appearance. He had to give Addison credit for always looking so put together. Since becoming successful she felt it necessary to dress the part; for them both to dress the part; but Addison always seemed more comfortable in the haute couture skin than he did. Today she was dressed in a black pencil skirt, with an emerald green silk blouse that clung in all the right places. Her hair was effortlessly curled; Derek briefly wondered how she had fixed that after surgery. The high heels added an extra sense of grandeur to her already tall frame. Elegant to the extreme.

Derek watched as she took a seat, leaving two chairs between them, and picked up a copy of Martha Stewart Living. He fought the urge to roll his eyes, not only because of her reading selection, but with the obviously bad start to this entire endeavour if she couldn't bring herself to sit beside him.

'Just great,' he thought. Then, 'why am I even here?'

Something at the secretary's desk buzzed. "Dr. Shepherd and Dr. Shepherd? You may go in now."

They stood as one and made their way toward the mahogany door. There was an awkward bit of fumbling as they both reached for the doorknob at the same time, and both shrank away from the possible contact. With an internal curse, Derek surged forward and opened the door for Addison. She flashed him a grateful glance; he looked away.

"Come in, come in. Sit down, please," came from the middle aged woman in the office. She was seated in a plush armchair, with one leg tucked up under her body, and a pad of paper resting on her knee. Her once dark brown hair was sprinkled liberally with grey strands. She gestured toward the two soft-looking chairs in front of her with a wave of her hand. Derek and Addison quickly took their seats without as much as a glance to the other.

"I'm Beth Mares, and I've been a marriage counsellor for the past 25 years. It is a pleasure to meet you both. We can take a formal approach if you like, Dr. Shepherd, and Dr. Montgomery-Shepherd, or we can go for informal and call each other by our given names. I will be learning quite a lot about you," she gave them both a kind smile, with lifted brows.

"Derek, please," Derek insisted, trying to hold back the pained sigh as he wondered, yet again, if this was worth it.

"Addison," came the voice from his right, in a softer tone than her usual assertive alto.

"Right," Beth spoke, lifting her pen to the pad of paper. "So, Derek, Addison, tell me why you think you need marriage counselling."

Derek just leaned back with a vindictive smirk, and gestured for Addison to begin talking.


	12. Chapter 12

**"_It wasn't painful -- let's put it that way -- but it's not the way I'd choose to make out with somebody." – Kirsten Dunst_**

Meredith was having a hard time adjusting to sharing her house with Izzie and George. She should have listened to that tiny voice in the back of her head when she had finally agreed to them moving in. Logically, she should know that them moving in would not just fill up two of the empty bedrooms, but would now mean that she would be forced to interact with them on a personal level, daily. It would have been far too easy if they had just occupied their rooms and never exited to see her, but no, they had to fight over closet space, and take up room in the bathroom, and use her kitchen and living room, and just encroach on her privacy. She should have known this would happen, except she didn't have much experience with this whole living with people thing. Her mother had never been around and even in university, she had always had private dorms at mother's insistence and cost. Sure she had friends, and drinking partners, and inappropriate men to warm her bed, but they were never there for a long time, and never in the intimate way that a roommate was. Meredith was quickly learning that she'd have to accept their inevitable intrusion into her life or go crazy. But she was an avoider, so she figured going crazy was the best option for now.

Fortunately, her day was now looking up. It was Dead Baby Bike Race Day, and the pit was filled with bleeding patients. Meredith was a little disturbed by how quickly the thought that excitement over trauma was not normal was quashed by the thrilling adrenaline coursing through her veins. Cristina and Izzie had already run off after a gurney, but she was still scanning the room looking for an interesting case.

Her eyes lit with greedy enthusiasm as she spotted the biker impaled by thin silver spokes. "Oooh," she breathed out, trying to keep the excited coo from escaping her throat. "I'll take that guy."

She vaguely heard Alex's attempt at staking his own claim and saw red. No way was that ass going to beat her to this patient. He'd have to take her out first. She quickly dashed across the pit, muscling Alex to the side the entire way.

Now both stood over the bruised biker as his eyes danced in amusement between the two of them. Neither was willing to back down.

"Heads he's mine, tails he's yours," Alex announced, pulling a coin from his scrubs.

Meredith's eyes narrowed at him. She was not going to let him win, and she didn't trust him as far as she could throw him—which probably wasn't very far; she was pretty tiny, and he looked muscley. "Why do you get to be heads?"

"Because I have a head, and honey, you are tail," he shot back with a smarmy grin.

With a quick apology to the smirking patient, Meredith pulled a screen across to separate her argument with Alex from the biker's prying eyes. "How do you manage to make everything dirty?" She asked Alex, frustrated with boys in general, but especially this ass who made everything sound like it was about sex. She did not need to be hit on today.

Alex didn't answer, choosing instead to flip the coin. Meredith couldn't help but gloat when it landed in her favour. "Ha! Tails. There are plenty of other cases."

"So go get one," Alex groaned. "I was here first."

Resisting the urge to call him on his petulant tone, Meredith responded, "I am not backing down so I can do sutures all day while you're up in the O.R. This is a surgical case and you know it."

"It's superficial. I mean, it's cool, but it's superficial," Alex argued, his face getting closer to hers.

"How do you know those things didn't rupture his peritoneum?" Meredith was desperate for this to be an interesting case. She needed something to improve her day. Somewhere in the back of her head it was noted that Alex used really big gestures when he was frustrated. 'Case and point,' she thought as he continued at a yell.

"Because he's sitting up, and talking to us!"

Their escalating argument was interrupted as the curtain was yanked back. Both Meredith and Alex turned to stare into the face of their patient who looked less amused than he had done at the beginning.

"Hello," he began, now satisfied that he had their attention. "Excuse me, I was wondering if you could take these out and sew me up, so I can go and win my race?"

Meredith put on her best conciliatory smile, trying to placate him as she explained gently, "Well, we can't just pull them out, I mean, we…"

She stopped talking to stare down at Alex's hands as they pulled the spokes out from the biker's abdomen. "…do some tests…" she continued a little breathlessly, her brain and mouth not quite processing this new information quickly enough.

As soon as her mind had assimilated all the information she turned to Alex in shock, "are you out of your mind?"

"It's a superficial wound," he responded in his superior tone as he handed her the blood-tipped metal skewers. "Sew him up and let him finish his race."

Meredith could only sputter in response as the biker voiced his approval. She would need to come up with some coping mechanism for Alex before she blew up at him. She could feel the rage rising to a razor sharp edge. But, she had a patient to tend to. She should focus on that.

* * *

Her work was slow and meticulous; each suture was a work of art, perfect in its own way. An idle thought in the back of her brain registered that even her mother would be proud of these sutures. Of course, her mother would only truly approve if these sutures were being performed in the O.R. of some dramatic, once-in-a-lifetime surgery, but it was definitely progress.

Even her patient seemed to approve: "Ah, you got a nice touch," he began, before continuing with a flirty grin. "And by the way, you are a rocking babe."

Meredith was a little thrown, unused to being hit on without the familiar background of peanut shells and tequila shots. But that training did prepare her to turn down many advances. "Seriously," she questioned, "do you actually think you have a shot here?"

"I like to think I've got a shot anywhere," the biker returned with a cocky smirk.

In a last ditch attempt for a possibly good surgery, as well as some concern for the biker's wellbeing (certainly more concern than he seemed to have), she tried to persuade him to agree to some tests. He refused, insisting on his continuing the race.

"Why?" Meredith asked, completely confused as to why anyone would want to participate in this event. "You can't win now, anyway."

"Doesn't mean I can't cross that finish line," the biker explained, his hand lifting to gesture the act of finishing. Meredith understood that; wanting to finish what you started. "There's a party at the finish line," he continued, Meredith hanging on his word until his next whispered offer. "Do you want to meet me there?"

Meredith pulled back at that, and narrowed her eyes. With a resigned head shake, she made one final attempt to convince him to agree to a CT scan. Then reluctantly had him sign an AMA form, knowing she would now have to search the pit for a good case. With her luck today, she would be doing sutures for the rest of her shift. Goody.

She passed the biker a clipboard of forms, her eyes watching as he scribbled his signature on all the necessary documents. It was done. He was officially out of her care. No exciting case; and he was still an idiot for not letting her check.

Her patient was halfway to the door when he spun around and pulled her into a kiss. For one breathless second her lips responded while her hands remained in a frozen hover above his shoulders. Then her brain kicked into overtime, forcing her addled mind to register that she was at work, not in some dimly lit bar. She had so much to prove; she was so much more than some slutty intern who makes out with patients. She pulled back, her hands lifted defensively.

The biker flashed her a lopsided grin. "That was for good luck," he explained, opening the door to leave. "Don't worry, darling, you'll see me again."

"For your sake, I hope not!" Meredith shouted, belatedly. She shook her head, trying to clear her spiralling thoughts. This was a weird day. She started bunching up the table cover and all her suturing supplies, her mind still focused on the patient and Alex, and the George and Izzie situation. She glanced up to see a smirking Mark staring at her through the window.

As she moved to throw all her supplies into the appropriate biohazard container, Mark opened the door. "What do you want?" she asked, struggling to hide her grin.

"Tsk," he responded with a disapproving shake of the head, undermined by the continued grin. "You make out with patients now?"

Meredith pulled a face at him. "You had sex with a scrub nurse," she responded. "In the on call room on the fourth floor, about an hour ago."

"True," Mark replied, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back against the door frame. "And she does yoga. But she works here. She's not some patient. That's a whole new low."

"You've never had sex with a patient?" Meredith asked, doubtfully.

Mark scoffed, "of course I have. When will you learn that I've had sex with everyone? But I at least wait for patients who have had a full workup; nothing catching."

Meredith shook her head, not sure if she should feel admiration or disgust. "I keep my sex life separate from work, thank you very much."

"Except for me," Mark interrupted, eyes flashing merrily.

"Yeah, well you were separate until you showed up the next day," she muttered, eyes glaring at him. "And for the record, he kissed me. I wouldn't kiss a patient. I'm still an intern; I still have something to prove."

"Alright, alright," Mark lifted his hands in surrender. "You should find yourself a nice boy who…"

His conversation ceased as a towel hit him in the face. "Oh, shut up," Meredith muttered, grinning.


	13. Chapter 13

**"_Try as much as possible to be wholly alive, with all your might, and when you laugh, laugh like hell and when you get angry, get good and angry. Try to be alive. You will be dead soon enough." – William Saroyan_**

Meredith was beginning to wonder how she had gotten herself into this situation. If she was perfectly honest, she had quite a history of getting herself into trouble, or having trouble fall into her lap. She had probably done something terrible in a previous life and karma was coming to bite her in the ass. Or maybe her long series of bad decisions had led to moments like these—staring at the back of Cristina's head as she talked to Dr. Burke…as he peed into a urinal. They were so getting fired. Or hit with a sexual harassment suit.

It was all Izzie's fault, and she wasn't here to get the blame from Burke. Izzie and her doe eyes, and her desperate begging for a man's life. How could Meredith resist? Besides, it was good practice in transfusing a patient. Or at least that's what she'd tell Bailey once she caught wind of it and tracked them down. She planned on stammering out that excuse and then high-tailing it away as fast as she could.

The bathroom door shut quickly and Cristina spun to face her. "He wants to know who gave the orders to transfuse John Doe," she hissed.

Meredith and Cristina stared at each other for half a second before nodding in unspoken agreement. Together they pushed open the bathroom door and faced Burke as one. His head turned to watch the pair as he ran his hands under the flowing tap.

"Mine," Meredith blurted out with no preamble, willing herself not to cringe. So much for any rapport that had been built after the surgery on the infant with the heart murmur. Burke was going to hate her.

Burke stared at her incredulously, "you gave a brain-dead John Doe a blood transfusion without consulting anyone; and now you want me to repair his heart?"

"Well, yes," Cristina answered in her usual blunt manner.

Burke's eyes narrowed as they jumped quickly from Meredith to Cristina and back. "You do enjoy crossing the line, don't you?" His voice was soft and almost dangerous.

Meredith offered her last, and perhaps most valid, excuse: "He is an excellent candidate for organ donation."

"I am a surgeon," Burke began; his cultured voice clear and crisp despite the low volume. "I save lives. This guy is already dead. Now, this is the men's room. Either whip one out, or close the door."

Meredith and Cristina quickly shut the door. They backed out without turning, in some remnant of a primal instinct, keeping their wary eyes on the predator.

Once safely away they slumped against the wall. "Now what?" Meredith asked.

Cristina looked at Meredith and grinned, "Go find your sex buddy, maybe he'll have an idea."

Meredith made a face, but pushed off the wall to find Mark. "And stop talking about it," she called over her shoulder. "It happened once."

* * *

Mark was just grinning at her. "You're asking my advice?"

"Yes," She said.

"Just this morning you chose to ignore and mock my advice about your sex life," the slow, sad shake of his head was oddly juxtaposed with the devilish smirk he couldn't contain.

"Not funny," Meredith replied, wrinkling her nose. "This is serious."

"Okay, you want to get around Burke?" Mark responded in a more serious tone, although the smirk remained. "You could ask Dr. Drake, he likes irritating Burke, but I think your best bet is Dr. Webber. You've got to find a way to get the Chief involved."

"Right," Meredith exhaled. "Thanks," she added, as she began to walk away.

"See," Mark yelled. "I'm a good advice-giver. You should listen to me more often."

Meredith turned to stick her tongue out at him before scurrying off.

* * *

Standing with Izzie and Cristina in the stairway, Meredith was fighting the urge to wring her hands together. Intimidating George had been easy, but watching him talk to the Chief and hoping that none of their careers would be hurt by this was a little nerve-wracking.

"We are so going to hell," she groaned out, verbally expressing her worry. "Burke is sending us straight to hell."

"On an express train," Cristina agreed.

"If it works," Izzie nodded.

Alex sauntered up to join them. He looked at them curiously before following their lines of sight to George and the Chief. "What're you doing?" he asked.

"Nothing," the three girls replied in unison, their eyes still fixed on George. They all inhaled as one when Burke walked by, arguing quietly with smiling Dr. Drake.

Dr. Webber lightly touched Dr. Burke's shoulder causing him to halt in his path. Dr. Drake slowed to a stop as well.

"Yes," Izzie whispered with a broad grin.

The four interns watched as the Chief finished talking and walked away. George quickly spun on his heel and hurried off to anywhere that was nowhere near Dr. Burke. Burke twisted to scowl in their direction.

"Oh, crap," Cristina muttered as they all turned in different directions to speed away. Only Meredith caught the quick wink Dr. Drake shot their way before he grinned at Burke and left.

* * *

An hour later and the three females were together again, sitting side by side in the gallery, staring down at Dr. Burke's flawlessly moving hands. Their focus on his excellent surgical work was distracted by the simpering commentary from Alex who stood at Burke's side. The anger Meredith had felt towards him earlier in the pit was rising to the surface again. At least she wasn't alone in her feelings.

"I seriously hate that guy," Cristina said, a true sign of her feelings on the subject if she was focused on anything other than the surgery.

"Alex is vermin," Meredith agreed. "That surgery is ours."

"At least Burke is doing the surgery; I don't care about Alex," Izzie's response once again revealed her optimistic side. "George, you did good."

George groaned as he stared down into the O.R. through the spread fingers of the hands running down his face. "I'm going to have to dodge Burke for the rest of my career." He leaned close to Meredith to whisper, "he could kill me and make it look like an accident."

Meredith giggled, and grinned at him.

Meredith and George sat in the gallery until the end of the surgery, after Cristina and Izzie had been called away to talk to John Doe's wife.

"Perfect," Meredith whispered as the last suture was pulled taut. "Simply perfect."

"Yeah," George agreed. "Let's hope it was worth it."

Meredith nodded and stood to leave. "I'll see you at home, George."

* * *

'Another long, hectic day,' Meredith thought as she pulled her shirt on over her head, stuffing her used scrub shirt into the bottom of her locker. Her pager beeped from the pile of scrubs, and she pulled it out to check: nothing that couldn't wait until morning.

The locker room door burst open and Alex strode in. He inhaled deeply, his broad chest expanding within the confines of his blue scrub shirt.

"God, I smell good!" he exclaimed. "You know what it is?" he turned towards Meredith, with a smug look. "It's the smell of open heart surgery." He takes another deep breath, and a step towards her. "It's awesome. It is awesome! You've got to smell me."

Alex stepped even closer and wrapped his arms around Meredith's shoulders, pressing his entire body fully along the length of her back. He nuzzled his face against her neck.

"I don't want to smell you," Meredith exclaimed, just barely reigning in her temper.

Alex nestled even closer, eyes closing as he inhaled the scent of her hair. "Oh yes, you do."

Meredith spun around in his arms with a growl. She grabbed a fistful of his shirt and slammed him back against the lockers with all the force she could muster.

"You have got to be kidding me!" Meredith's anger from earlier had reached boiling point and had been released. I have roommates, and family problems, and boy issues." Alex gave a fake yawn and turned his face away, but she continued her rant. It felt so good to let things out. "You want to act like a little frat boy bitch? That's fine. You want to take credit for your saves, and everybody else's? That's fine too. Just stay out of my face." She grabbed his chin and forced him to look at her. "And for the record? You smell like crap!" She pushed his head back against the lockers with one final shove and let go.

She turned away, breathing heavily, and saw a cautious looking Mark standing in the open door. Meredith turned back to her locker, with a determined look.

Mark stepped carefully into the room, and cocked a curious eyebrow toward Alex with a look that demanded an explanation.

"She attacked me!" Alex exclaimed, not wanting to appear weak, having just been bested by a diminutive female in front of his surgical idol.

Meredith snarled and spun toward Alex. Her attacking charge was blocked as Mark lunged to intercept her. "Meredith, Meredith, Meredith!" he attempted to calm her as he gently pushed her back.

Once he was certain she was still, he turned to Alex. "I suggest you leave," he began. "Before I let her wipe the floor with you."

With a firm grip on Alex's elbow he guided him to the door, and gave him a slight shove out of the room. Alex turned to Meredith from the doorway, lifting one fist to rub at fake tears from his eyes. Mark stepped into his line of sight, his arms crossed over his strong chest.

"You know," he began, "you're going to need to learn to behave if you want to get into Plastics." Alex snapped to attention. "Here's a lesson in fetching. I haven't picked up my dry cleaning in a week." He pulled a wrinkled yellow receipt from his pants pocket. "Hop to it." Alex snatched up the receipt and dashed off.

Mark turned back to Meredith, who now had a slight grin on her face. "You want to tell me what that was about?"

Meredith grabbed her coat and her bag, slamming her locker door closed. She walked towards him. "You want to tell me what the ferryboats are about?"

Mark just grimaced at her and opened the door to let her go.

* * *

The sounds of the jeep's engine quieted into silence. Meredith let her head fall back against the seat, closing her eyes to shut away the sight of the lights from her living room window.

'Right,' she remembered, 'roommates. I need this.'

She walked into the house, and stopped dead in the hallway. There were paintings on the walls, and lamps, and cushions—and Izzie and George digging greedily through her mother's surgical tapes. The anger that had disappeared after Mark had gotten rid of Alex returned at full force.

"Where did all this stuff come from?" she demanded, loudly.

"Oh, I unpacked some of your mother's things," Izzie explained between blowing across her steaming mug of tea. "I was upset, and when I'm upset I like to nest."

Meredith stared in disbelief as her two roommates continued to dig through videos, ignoring her. She gave a fierce shake of her head, and began to gather up the photographs and knickknacks that were now spread about the room.

"No," she started, her voice rising with every word. "No. We're not watching my mother's surgery tapes. We're not unpacking boxes. We're not having long conversations where we celebrate the moments of our lives." She snatched the bottle of beer from the coffee table and thrust it into George's hand. "And use a coaster!"

Meredith took her handfuls of stuff and turned to the stairs.

"I ordered Chinese food," she heard George offer, tentatively.

Meredith pressed her lips tightly together as she stormed up to the second floor. "I hate Chinese food!" she yelled as she ascended.

She sped into her room and shut the door to block out the sounds of George and Izzie's giggling. Meredith carefully dropped her armload onto the carpet. Then she dove onto her bed, flopping face down, to muffle the frustrated scream into her pillow.


	14. Chapter 14

**_If you don't like something change it; if you can't change it, change the way you think about it. - Mary Engelbreit_**

'Something about this roommate situation has got to change," Meredith thought as she and Cristina walked toward the hospital's glass entranceway. She had been so frustrated this morning that when she forgot her travel mug of coffee on the kitchen counter she had refused to turn back and get it. She had to buy coffee from the cart in the parking lot. Caffeine was a must.

At least Cristina provided her with someone to complain to, even if she didn't understand why Meredith was putting herself through the experience.

"So, what," Cristina asked as they paused in front of the tall doors, "you're just going to repress everything in some deep, dark, twisted place until one day you snap and kill them?"

Meredith paused, for a fraction of a second, to consider. "Yep," she nodded.

With an admiring grin, Cristina nodded back. "This is why we are friends."

Alex came up behind the pair, "why is the Nazi making us stay in the Pit two days in a row?"

Without turning in his direction, Meredith responded in a sing-song tone, "leftovers." She silently congratulated herself on her apathetic attitude towards Alex after the locker room confrontation. Calm was the goal of the day.

"Leftovers?" Alex asked.

'Then again, stupid people can be irritating,' Meredith mumbled, before responding in a louder voice. "Got to get the cyclists who were too drunk, or too stupid, or too scared to get themselves to a hospital yesterday."

"Meanwhile, she gets to do a freaking organ harvest," he petulantly gestured towards Cristina, conveniently forgetting his O.R. time from the day before.

"Oh, that kills you doesn't it," Cristina crowed, her voice full of pride, her expression smug.

"What?" Alex asked.

"That two women got the harvest," she grinned at him.

"No," he stated defensively, "it kills me that anyone got the harvest but me. Boobs do not factor into this equation." He paused for a brief moment before smirking, "unless you want to show me yours."

Meredith wrinkled her nose in Cristina's direction. "I'm going to become a lesbian," she sighed out.

"Me too," Cristina nodded in agreement. They both moved away from the elevator to the stairs.

"You are going to enjoy your day in the pit with Captain Testosterone," Cristina offered in a smug tone.

"While you get to do a harvest surgery? Stop rubbing it in!" Meredith cried. "You never know, I might get something exciting." She turned away from Cristina's sceptical look.

* * *

Meredith leaned against the desk while her eyes darted around the pit. Her gaze settled, with surprise, on a familiar figure causing her eyebrows to knot together.

She leaned to her right to draw Alex's attention from his paperwork. "What's Viper doing here?" She asked.

"Probably crashed his bike again," came the dismissive response from Alex who hadn't even raised his head from the pile of charts.

"How long has he been waiting?" Meredith wondered out loud, half waiting for Alex's reply.

She wasn't disappointed. He finally turned to face her. "Don't know," Alex began in a condescending voice. "I'm busy on real cases. He's all yours."

Meredith ignored Alex's verbal equivalent of a pat on the head and walked toward her patient, calling his walk turned to a run when he fell to the floor unconscious, blood leaking from the corner of his mouth.

She plunged to her knees at his side and lifted the bloodstained shirt to see the large abscessed wound. Her hands dropped to apply pressure to the wound while she shouted for assistance.

Within a blurred and speeded minute Meredith found herself on a gurney, straddling Viper's abdomen as she kept his wound closed with her delicate fingers. She was calling orders to the trauma nurse, a little shocked that her mind could function so automatically now to this sort of situation.

"Alex, let's go," she ordered sharply in his direction. He stared back, a stunned look on his face. "Alex! Push the damn gurney!"

He snapped into the present and they sped toward the elevator.

* * *

'Well, I did tell Cristina that I wanted something exciting to happen,' Meredith thought as she massaged her neck with a few quick squeezes before tugging at the strings of her scrub cap. She and Dr. Bailey were walking tiredly across the waiting room towards the loudly laughing group of tattooed and pierced youths.

"This lovely group's his friends?" Bailey asked, her face scrunched up as if someone had stuck something particularly foul smelling under her nose.

Meredith gave a barely visible nod.

"Uh, you all belong to…" Bailey paused, her tired face lifted to Meredith's. "What's his name?"

"Viper," Meredith supplied in a low tone.

"Viper," Bailey repeated automatically, then again when the name registered in her brain.

"Yeah," one of the friends said. "Is he okay?"

And that's what set Bailey off, on a long, hissed out tangent that escalated in volume. Meredith's eyes widened with alarm as she noticed the frightened looks on Viper's friends, and the attention they were drawing from all corners of the waiting room.

"Dr. Bailey," she tried in a hushed tone. "Dr. Bailey!" she repeated louder.

Bailey turned towards Meredith, finally realizing what a spectacle she was making, but she was not one to stop mid-lecture. "Your friend Viper, as far as I'm concerned, is not okay," she concluded before stomping away.

Meredith offered a small smile to the stunned looking group before giving them the good news and walking away. Thankfully she made it to the elevator before the cathartic giggles took hold.

* * *

A shirt tumbled to the floor from her open locker. Meredith sighed as she bent to pick it up and replace it. She grabbed her purse and jacket, carefully moving all the items in her locker to secure positions. Squirting moisturizer into her palm, she pulled back to rub it in to her hands, dried out from the frequent hand washing the life of a surgeon demanded.

Meredith looked up at the sound of the locker door opening. Mark stood in front of her, his face ashen. He shut the door behind him with a firm click.

"I'll tell you," he began, his expression a far cry from his normal confident exterior.

"What?" Meredith was confused.

"The thing about the ferryboats," he explained, walking closer. "The reason I came here. The reason I can't go back. I need to tell someone."

"The ferryboats," Meredith repeated in what she hoped was an encouraging tone. She was divided between a desire to help Mark because he looked so terrible, and a rabid curiosity.

"I slept with my best friend's wife," he said, quickly, with a detached voice, as he stared down at the floor.

"Oh," Meredith breathed out, unsure of what else to say. His eyes snapped to hers, and she almost stumbled back at the obvious pain radiating from them.

"He walked in on us," he continued, his eyes boring into hers. "He walked in on us actually in the throes, and he walked away, and she just pulled on a shirt and ran out after him. I left; I haven't seen either of them since. How can I?"

Meredith searched his blue eyes, carefully considering her next words. All she could come up with was, "why did you do it?"

Mark exhaled slowly, and gave her a pitiful excuse for a smile. "I…" his pager beeped from his hip. He glanced down to check. "I'll have to tell you later."

He retreated quickly from the room, and Meredith sank down onto the nearest bench to contemplate this new information.

* * *

There were lights on in the living room again. Meredith stood on the porch and took a few deep, calming breaths before putting the key into the lock. She'd have to handle the roommate thing sooner or later.

She stepped into the hall and spotted George and Izzie, and even Cristina—Meredith tamped down on the smirk—lounging on the couch surrounded by snacks and beer, staring fixedly at her mother operating on TV. She just managed to hold back the snort that threatened to escape when George noticed her and tried to hide the evidence of their actions.

"Hi," she said, cautiously.

"We were just…ah," George struggled for an excuse before settling on, "Cristina made us!"

Meredith made the decision then to try and accept her roommates, and maybe she would start to enjoy having people around. "What are we watching?" she asked with a smile as she dropped in between George and Izzie on the couch. "Ooh! This is the one where my mother…"

"Literally pulls this guy's face off!" Izzie completed.

"Yeah," Meredith agreed, her pleased voice indicating her rather sadistic wish for a similar surgery.

She grabbed a handful of popcorn and settled in for a fun night with her new friends.


	15. Chapter 15

**_The secret of a happy marriage remains a secret.__ - Henry Youngman_**

Derek dragged his hands through his tousled dark curls as he bit back the frustrated growl threatening to escape his throat. Three marriage counselling sessions after the first, and still no progress. Why was he here? Why was he even trying? All they seemed to be doing was rehashing the same things. Beth repeatedly asked how he feels. How does she think he feels? His wife cheated on him with his best friend. Was he supposed to be euphoric? Or feel anything other than the constant, overwhelming need to be sick to his stomach?

Addison seemed to be benefiting from the sessions more than he was. She had now opened up and was in her element; happy, it seems, to finally have an outlet for expressing all her thoughts about his absence from their marriage. She had become so comfortable that she had stopped shooting him nervous look, and was instead gesturing animatedly with her carefully manicured fingers as she spoke at length.

It was all getting to him. He was even irritated by Beth's neutral expression as she calmly nodded and scribbled down notes on the faded yellow pad resting lightly on her knee. He wasn't even listening anymore.

"…I was lonely, and Mark was there…"

Okay, now he was listening. And he had had enough.

"Addison!" he interrupted sharply. "You broke our wedding vows that you had rested so much faith in. You helped destroy a lifelong friendship. You can harp on all you like about how much I was absent, but it takes two people to destroy a marriage. Or, I suppose in this case, three. Take responsibility for your actions! You should have tried to talk to me before you resorted to sleeping with my best friend!" Derek was breathing hard, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

"Mark was just there, Derek; more so than you. At that point, I was just scratching an itch. I did try, but you were always working." Addison's voice was a strange mix of caustic and soothing. Her eyes flashed with some unrecognizable emotion and, if Derek wasn't mistaken, unshed tears. "Okay, we both were busy," she demurred. "We both got successful and we stopped trying."

"Addison," he groaned out as he pinched the bridge of his nose in a vain attempt to stave of the massive headache forming behind his eyes. "I agree it was not how a marriage should be, but it's no excuse for sleeping with Mark on my favourite sheets." Derek's voice rose steadily in volume as every attempt to stay calm fizzled fast.

"The flannel sheets? Those aren't your favourite sheets. You like the Italian sheets with the…"

"I didn't come here to argue about bed linen!" Derek interrupted. "I don't give a damn about the sheets! In our bed, Addison. You slept with Mark in our bed. And that's all I can see now. You wanted my attention? You've got it. I just don't think you wanted it this way."

Derek inhaled a slow, deep breath, feeling a little of the tension he had been living with since that night ease from his body. He gave a curt nod to Beth as he rose. "I have to go," he offered as a vague excuse; anything to get out of the room. He grabbed his jacket and turned to the door.

"See you at home, Addison," he stated without turning to face her.

"Well, that was excellent progress," he heard Beth's voice say as he firmly shut the door.


	16. Chapter 16

**"_All happy families are alike; each unhappy family is unhappy in its own way" – Leo Tolstoy, "Anna Karenina" _**

The softened cotton of her already well worn scrubs glided over her hair as she tugged the shirt down into place. Meredith lifted her right hand to cover the large yawn she could do nothing to prevent; 4:30 am was far too early to be at work. It was times like this where she had difficulty remembering why she had decided to become a surgeon.

Her mother. Ellis Grey had certainly played a huge part in influencing her career choice, Meredith had to admit. No matter what her failings had been as a mother, and Meredith's past rebellions, Ellis had inspired a love of surgery in her daughter, as well as unintentionally fostering the necessary independence and toughness to take on the career.

She didn't want to think about her mother, but Izzie's nesting had led to many boxes being opened, and all her life spilled out for her to see. Like the photograph of her with her parents from her very distant past. Meredith had spent a long time this morning staring at the father she could barely remember, and the familiar scowl on her mother's face. Ellis was standing in her scrubs and a lab coat, a blatant reminder of where she would rather be, and what her greatest priority was in life. Meredith had stared at it, trying to remember any truly happy moment with both her parents together doing some fun activity with her. Nothing. She couldn't come up with a single memory. So she had quickly stuffed the photo album away, and dashed her signature across the cheque for her mother's care.

In the car ride over, she had let her mind drift by focusing on George and Izzie's tampon argument, but now, in her mother's former workplace, forgetting was much more difficult. What she needed was a great surgical case, something to take her mind off things, and to prove herself against her mother's legacy. But this tenacity still didn't extend to any sort of eagerness to begin work before the sun had breached the horizon.

The locker next to hers opened swiftly and the door crashed against hers with a metallic clang. "I'm going to be in surgery. Today's my day."

Meredith turned to lift an eyebrow at Cristina. "On what?"

"Like I'd tell you," Cristina looked at her sceptically.

Despite their rather odd friendship, Cristina was still not willing to share anything she thought would help her get ahead. But, it was worth a try: "what do you know?"

Cristina smirked at her as she grabbed her stethoscope and closed the door. "I know that I was here at 4:00, and you didn't get here till 4:30."

"Tell me!" Meredith insisted as she pulled her lab coat around her shoulders.

"No! I'm not the intern who's screwing an attending." Cristina turned to walk out the locker room.

Meredith slammed her locker shut and lurched forward to grab Cristina's arm. "Once," she hissed into her ear as they moved to the door, "and never again. I am not screw…"

Meredith's words died in her throat as she collided with Mark's hard chest. She heard Cristina's barely suppressed snicker before her friend disappeared to see to her mysterious patient.

"You're here early," she said to a tired looking Mark.

"Never left," he groaned in response. "My page last night was for a bunch of kids who thought they could work the deep fryer at a fish and chip shop. Lots of burn repairs."

Meredith patted his arm in sympathy. "You need some coffee."

"Yeah, I would take it in an IV drip if I could. Want to come to the coffee stand and get some?" Mark asked.

"I've got pre-rounds. And I probably shouldn't be seen with you in this hospital; it's unprofessional." Meredith's eyes darted around the hallway, avoiding his face.

Mark's normal smirk sprang to life at this comment. "Nervous about water cooler gossip? Think of it as an attending getting to know one of his interns."

Meredith fought the very strong urge to stick her tongue out at him. "I wouldn't want to be lumped in with all your other conquests."

"If we went for coffee, you wouldn't be; most ladies can't hold my interest after a supply room quicky," Mark shrugged.

"Supply room? Who'd you bang in the supply room?" Meredith pinched his arm.

"Linda…Laura…" Mark frowned as he rubbed his chin. "One of the PEDS nurses. She told me she wanted dinner tonight, so I got out of there quick."

"Such a charmer," Meredith shook her head and fought off the slight grin. "Go get your coffee, and leave me to do my work!"

"Nice talking to you, Dr. Grey." Mark intoned in a stiff voice, and just managed to escape Meredith's pinch.

* * *

George strolled down the hallway beside her as they walked from their final pre-round assessments.

"There need to be some rules," George's words burst from his mouth without preamble, a final outpouring of all the nervous thoughts that had been looping through his brain.

Meredith did her best to restrain the giggles, "So, what, we can walk around in our underwear on alternate Tuesdays, or you could see bras but not panties?" She gave him an amused glance before continuing, "Or are you talking Amish rules? Because, if you think you're going get Izzie to cover herself…"

"The amount of flesh exposed is not the point," began George, looking completely scandalized to be having this conversation with her. "You have to do something. It's your house."

Meredith frowned for a fraction of a second, before brushing it aside. "It's my mother's house."

"Meredith," George pleaded.

A flash of understanding crossed Meredith's face as she dropping her voice into a teasing tone, "Do you like Izzie? Is that what this is about?" A mischievous grin spread over her lips. "Do you have a crush on Izzie?"

"Izzie? No. I don't like Izzie." George looked impossibly flustered as he fumbled with his words. "Izzie…no. She's not the one I'm attracted to."

"Not the one?" Meredith's grin spread. "So there's a one?" She tried to needle out some gossip.

"This is not...Look, there just have to be some rules." Meredith decided to take pity on him. His face was flushed a deep tomato red.

Before she could respond, Bailey came up and sent them down to Trauma to meet up with Dr. Drake.

* * *

Meredith quietly stepped into the scrub room and began to tuck her hair up under her scrub cap.

Dr. Drake smiled at her from the sink as he scrubbed his fingers with an iodine brush. "Quite the case, isn't it, Dr. Grey? I've never seen anything like it."

"Yeah," Meredith echoed. "I got the history from his wife. He's been having dizzy spells."

"Vertiginous or light-headedness?" Dr. Drake asked with a frown as he gestured for her to scrub in with an incline of his head.

"Light-headed," Meredith responded, ripping open a sterilization pack and starting the flow of hot water. "Sometimes he'd have to brace himself to get out of bed."

Dr. Drake's frown deepened, "it could be a million things."

"He fell down the stairs holding a nail gun," Meredith started tentatively. "Something caused him to lose consciousness and fall down the stairs. He could have a tumor."

Dr. Drake nodded as he plucked at a towel to dry his hands. "True," he sighed. "But right now he's lucky to still be breathing and talking. Let's get him out of this first before we look for anything else."

Meredith gave a stiff nod and dried her hands.

* * *

There were beads of sweat glistening on Dr. Drake's forehead, and the green dragonfly scrub cap was darkening with the moisture. Meredith was certain that he was chewing on his lower lip under the surgical mask. His eyes and hands held steady as he removed the final nail and checked for bleeding. With a final few closing stitches, he was able to step back from the table and breathe deeply.

He congratulated the surgical team, while pulling the nitrile gloves from his large hands. Turning to Meredith he gave her a quick wink before inclining his head in the direction of the scrub room. "You want to do an MRI, I suppose," he asked as he started the flow of water in the sink.

"I think it would be a good idea," Meredith nodded as she stepped up beside him.

He gave her a nod and smile. "Wait until he's stable. Do it tomorrow."

"Alright," Meredith let the hot water remove the sweat from her hands. "Great surgery."

Dr. Drake breathed in deeply. "Yeah, it was more luck than anything." He offered her a slightly sheepish smile. "I'm getting to old for new surgeries like this."

Meredith toweled off her hands and squeezed his arm warmly. "It was still a great surgery."

* * *

Meredith stood outside the crowded door with her coat clutched to her chest. It was just her luck that her mother's scrub nurse would show up on the same day she had been unable to stop thinking of her mother. The gathered friends and visitors waved their goodbyes and exited past her. Meredith nervously stepped towards the once-strong woman staring at her from the bed.

"Oh, your mom is a bigger woman," the woman spoke immediately. Meredith fought the rising shock. She often forgot how greatly she resembled her mother.

"You were her scrub nurse," she stated. It was the only thing she could think of to say. The two women introduced themselves.

"She wanted me to send her regards," Meredith attempted to offer kind words, unsure what else to tell the woman who had known her mother better than she had; better than anyone had.

"That doesn't sound like her," Liz Fallon looked at her, suspiciously.

"Excuse me?" Meredith asked, a little distressed at having been called out so quickly.

"Well, the Ellis Grey I know didn't have regards for anyone except Ellis Grey. But you know that already, don't you?" Meredith couldn't help but think that this woman was far too perceptive. "Where is she now?"

"Traveling," Meredith offered after a brief hesitation. It was a flimsy excuse, but the only one she could come up with. Liz Fallon seemed to doubt her.

"Is she practicing?" the former scrub nurse asked.

Oh, this woman knew her mother too well. "Not so much."

"Oh. Doesn't sound like her, either. She was all work, just like me. She never left the hospital. But you know that, too, don't you?" Liz's eyes bored into hers. "Is she well?"

"She's fine," Meredith replied stiffly, now eager to escape the room as quickly as she could. "Just wanted to send her regards. Take care."

* * *

She didn't know why she did it. The staff at the home had told her that reminders of the past helped with the muddled memories. So she had brought the picture, the one which had haunted her all day. The one of her family. The one featuring people who should have been the most important in Ellis Grey's life.

But her mother couldn't remember her father. Or her.

"That's the red wagon he got me for my birthday. I'm about four years old in this photo. This is your family." Meredith pointed out the figures, desperate for some sign of recognition. She got no response.

"I saw Liz Fallon at the hospital today," Meredith offered, defeated.

Her mother began to laugh; her eyes lit up and sparkled with recognition. "Liz! I love her. How is she? Is she still a scrub nurse? She was excellent."

Meredith bit her lip and nodded, fighting down the urge to cry.


	17. Chapter 17

**"_You can make more friends in two months by becoming interested in other people than you can in two years by trying to get other people interested in you." – Dale Carnegie_**

"Masochist," Meredith mumbled in a low tone, careful to keep her voice soft enough not to disturb the woman in front of her. "I must be a masochist to be doing this."

She didn't know why she was back here in Liz Fallon's room, staring at the sleeping form of her mother's old scrub nurse. All she wanted right now was a place to hide herself from Sona and Jorge, and the horrific choice they had to make; a shortened life span, or a loss of memory. They just didn't understand. When Dr. Drake had been explaining their choices for surgery on the tumour, Meredith had to look away. She had bit her lip hard enough that the acrid taste of blood had filled her mouth; a slight hint of the coppery tang still remained on her tongue. A desperate part of her was clawing to get out and tell them what a change to their lives it would be if they chose invasive surgery. They couldn't see how awful it would be for Sona to not be recognized by her husband, her family. They couldn't know Meredith's own pain in that experience.

Maybe that's why she was here, watching Liz's chest rise and fall in a shaky, laboured rhythm. She needed someone to know; someone who understood her mother, someone who wouldn't say anything.

"Hey," Meredith started at Liz's raspy greeting.

"I told my mother about you," Meredith pasted a travesty of a smile across her features. "She remembers you very well."

Nurse Fallon narrowed her eyes and scoffed: "of course she would. Ellis Grey never forgot a thing."

It was too much to handle with her overtired brain and taxed emotions. Meredith burst into uncontrollable giggles, swiping at the tears leaking from her eyes, and inwardly rejoicing that she managed to avoid sobbing.

Liz's face softened in understanding, "what's her diagnosis?"

"Alzheimer's," Meredith stated after a quick breath. "Early onset."

"And she doesn't want anyone to know," Liz continued, knowingly.

No," Meredith confirmed. "She's in a home and I'm the only person she'll allow to see her."

"But if I know Ellis Grey, she made the nursing home sign a contract to that effect." Meredith tried not to shrink away from the examining eyes of the woman who had spent more time with her mother than anyone else. Too much of her past had forced to be on her own, and grow to be strong alone, to want anyone's pity.

"You know my mother well," she stated, becoming resigned to the fact that her mother's work had always meant more to her than her family; her only daughter.

Liz nodded, without a smile. "What a bitch," she announced.

Meredith just had to laugh; a cathartic release in finally sharing her mother's secret with someone, and the joyful knowledge that someone understood, even in a minor way, how less than ideal her mother was. That being respected for being a surgeon meant that other aspects of her life went completely ignored. She and Liz dissolved into helpless giggles.

* * *

Meredith sat on the hard bench outside the hospital, drinking from her water bottle, and letting Izzie and Cristina's bickering crash over her like a wave. No matter what she did today, Sona and Jorge were never far from her mind. They were all she could think about, and she was having trouble focusing on the conversations around her. She would give anything for a distraction, but of course, Izzie and Cristina were talking about patients, and surgical options. She couldn't escape it.

"No! You know what?" Cristina exclaimed, her finger wagging in Izzie's direction, as she lifted her upper body away from the bench to emphasize her arguing stance. "I'd want the doctors to do everything they could. I'd want them to cut me open until the minute I die."

That was Cristina: hardened, scientific, and analytical to the nth degree. Her judgment clouded by her lack of human connection. She didn't see what those surgeries would do to the friends around her. Not that she really had any.

"Sometimes doing everything can be worse than doing nothing," Meredith sighed in response. It was certainly true for her patient's case, and she hoped they would see that. See? There was no escaping from thinking about it.

Or maybe there was.

"You are eight feet tall," Cristina began as her fingers fumbled to a stop in the pages of _Seattle_ magazine. "Your boobs are perfect. Your hair is down to there. If I were you I'd walk around naked all the time. I wouldn't have a job. I wouldn't have skills. I wouldn't even know how to read. I'd just be…naked."

Cristina passed the magazine over her head into Meredith's awaiting hands. Definitely the distraction she was looking for, she thought as she giggled at the sultry pictures which had caused Izzie so much trouble today. At least Meredith didn't have to deal with her patients finding anything like this of her. "Although, with my luck, one of my one night stands will show up in an exam room one day," she muttered in a low tone.

Izzie's eyes darted to Meredith, and then to Cristina, before rolling up towards the sky while she shook her head. "It's makeup," she began with a resigned grin. "It's retouching."

Cristina and Meredith looked at each other, "You get that we hate you, right?"

The sound of Izzie's pager brought Meredith's crashing back to the realities of her patient, distracting her from Cristina's parting shot at the blonde's retreating back. "Damn," she mumbled.

* * *

She couldn't help it. It had been preying upon her all day. She knew that as a doctor she wasn't supposed to have such a strong influence on her patient's decisions, especially such a difficult one. But seeing Sona in the hallway, she just couldn't stop herself. She needed to explain how difficult it would be. She needed to let them know how radically it would change their lives.

"You need to consider what you'll lose," she tried to impress upon Sona the magnitude of the decision. "What good is five years if he doesn't joke about your omelets and he can't remember seeing you in that red dress?"

"It's still five more years," Sona's face was tightened into a grimace, with her arms crossed over her chest. She was closed off from listening, and all Meredith wanted to do was break through to her.

"You don't understand," she began her desperate plea. "He'll be there, but he won't be Jorge. He won't even recognize you."

"This is our business," tears glistened in the corner of Sona's eyes, and she rapidly blinked them away.

"You have no idea what this will do to you," Meredith wanted to share her pain. She knew it was going too far, but she was too far into it to stop. "Isn't five good years better than ten bad ones?"

"Dr. Grey?" Dr. Drake's soft voice broke through her rapidly streaming thoughts.

Meredith turned to him in misery, silently begging with her eyes for his help. "She needs to understand."

"I do understand," Sona choked out her response. "You think that I'm being selfish, that I don't want to give him up."

'Oh god, that's not what I meant.' Meredith thought, but all she could say was: "I don't."

The rest of Sona's argument past in a fog, filtering slowly though Meredith's clouded mind, as she let Dr. Drake pacify the poor woman who she had so ardently wanted to help. Sona sent a final glare in her direction, and she gathered up all her strength built from her past experiences with her mother's reproving looks to avoid flinching under the scrutiny.

"I'm disappointed, Dr. Grey," Dr. Drake stated with a stern look. "It's not your job to talk to patients in that way, or to question their very difficult medical decisions."

Meredith nodded, eyes cast downward to stare at the mottled pattern of the tile floor.

His face softened, and one kind, warm hand rested on her shoulder with a brief squeeze. "It's not like you. Is everything okay?"

With a tight-lipped smile, and the barest hint of moisture shining over her green orbs, Meredith offered a quick, "yeah," before apologizing and running off.

* * *

"Wasn't nail guy your patient, Grey?" Mark asked as he dropped into the hard plastic chair beside hers.

"Yep," Meredith answered, her eyes never leaving the draped figure on the operating table below.

"So why aren't you down there watching his surgery up close and personal?" One of Mark's fingers prodded her arm relentlessly, like a young child eager to be attended to. "You like all that neuro stuff."

"I do," she exhaled with a sigh, her head nodding in agreement. "But I argued with the patient's wife over their decision for the surgery, so Dr. Drake decided I shouldn't be involved."

Mark let out a low whistle. "You got Drake pissed off? I didn't think anyone could do that except for Burke. And you're his favourite intern. Tsk."

"I'm his favourite intern?" Meredith turned her head from the surgery below to look at Mark. Her first smile of the day lit up her tired features.

"Sure, you're my favourite too, but for totally different reasons," Mark waggled his eyebrows.

Meredith hit his arm. "Not happening again, loser."

"I didn't mean the sex, dummy," Mark flicked her right shoulder in response, "and that is no way to behave to your boss."

"You're my boss' boss," Meredith muttered, her eyes dropping back to Jorge's supine figure, "and be quiet about the sex."

"Drink later?" Came the offer, as he too stared down into Dr. Drake's O.R.

"We don't do drinks," Meredith looked at Mark, a little incredulous.

"We didn't get to do coffee," he corrected. "We could do drinks. Chat. Relieve the pains burdening our existence."

Meredith snorted.

"Okay, fine, you look like you've had a bad day, I'm offering to provide you with tequila, or whatever crap it was you drank," Mark paused and lifted his right hand to rub through his hair as his eyebrows lifted sheepishly. "And maybe I want to be the one to talk, reveal my true self loathing nature."

"Fine, whatever. Joe's tonight." Meredith dismissed him.

"Always a pleasure, Dr. Grey," Mark called loudly as he stood, stopping momentarily to pull at her ponytail.

It took a few deep breaths to stop her from throwing her chart at the back of his head.

* * *

The bell tinkled out a welcoming jingle as Meredith opened the door to the Emerald City Bar. It was pulsing with people: tired hospital workers looking for a casual drink on their way home from shift, or for someone to hook up with for the night in the hopes of achieving some sort of human connection from a detached job, a few people sat staring at the bar, drowning their sorrows in copious amounts of alcohol.

Meredith inhaled the musty scent of peanuts and beer, and smiled in relief. As sad as it sounded, being here was like coming home. She hadn't been out to a bar since the night before her first day as an intern. It had been a goal to turn over a new leaf: no more sex with inappropriate men, or self-medicating with tequila, instead focusing on work. For a while it had felt like she had cut off a limb, but she was doing well now, especially with the sex. Her experience with Mark had made her cautious about one night stands; you could never know when they would turn up in your life again. While she was missing having hot sex, Meredith was happy to avoid the bad experiences that could come from men picked up in lonely bars. Terrible sex was not worth the effort it took to bring a guy home.

But perhaps she could give up her embargo on tequila. With all the stuff that had happened today, a drink would do her good. Or two drinks. Or five. As long as there was no inappropriate men involved, but Mark would be there to get rid of any guys who wanted to try. "I just can't sleep with Mark again," she muttered, dropping herself onto an empty barstool. "He is very inappropriate."

"Tequila, right?" The bartender asked as he swiped a glass clean with a white towel.

"You have a very good memory," Meredith answered, "I was only here once."

"You were very memorable," he explained, placing a shot glass in front of her and filling it with the familiar golden liquid. "Straight up, yes?"

"Yes," Meredith grinned in anticipation, then picked up the glass and tilted her head to knock back the fiery drink.

"I'm Joe, by the way. I probably introduced myself last time, but you were having quite the night, so I'm not sure if you remember." He refilled her awaiting shot glass.

"I do remember, I always remember my tequila suppliers," she gulped down her second shot. "Meredith. I'm Meredith."

"Pleased to meet you," he smiled, shaking her hand. "You're an intern, I'm guessing, given the fact that you haven't been here in a while."

Meredith nodded, "surgical intern. You're good at this. Must be a bartender thing," she paused. "So what crazy things did I do last time that made me so memorable?"

"You mean apart from the tequila chugging, and attracting large flocks of hot men?" Joe asked with a grin. "You did leave with…"

"Me," Mark interrupted. "The usual, Joe."

Joe pulled out an old fashioned glass, and a bottle of scotch, slowly pouring the amber drink into the tumbler. "You two are dating?" he asked in a low tone, not looking up from the drink.

Mark and Meredith exchanged glances before bursting into laughter. "He's too much of a manwhore for me, Joe."

Meredith and Joe both ignored the startled outcry from Mark. "Oh, you know about that, do you?" Joe asked. "Good." He slid Mark his drink. "He has left this bar with a different girl every time he comes in here."

"That would have been me before I started working," Meredith nodded in understanding, pushing her shot glass towards Joe for a refill. "Maybe that's why he and I are friends. I mean, I guess we're friends. He's the one night stand who I couldn't get rid of."

"We're friends, Grey," Mark agreed. "Now drink up."

Meredith tossed back her shot, and let Joe pour her another before waving him away to his other customers.

"So what's the story, Sloan?" she asked, her fingers drawing lines between the circles of condensation on the wooden bar top. "You were interrupted the other night."

Mark sighed and stared down at the swirling liquid in his glass. "I'm still not sure I want to tell it, but I think I need someone to know. I need someone to share this with, even if you think it was a horrible thing to do."

"I've done some pretty horrible things," Meredith said with a shrug. "You can't change what you did in the past."

He nodded, and swallowed down a gulp of scotch, wincing at the burning sensation traveling down his throat. "No interruptions, okay?" Meredith nodded, silently.

"Derek," he began in a monotone, his eyes downcast to the half empty glass. "Derek has…had…been my best friend since elementary school. We lived near each other in New York, and I saved his ass from being beaten up by some of the kids on my baseball team. We became great friends, and managed to stay friends even when he was an awkward band geek, and I was on the football team. His parents practically adopted me. We roomed together in university, and went to med school together. That's where he met Addison, his wife; where we both met her. She has an incredible presence when you first meet her, tall, gorgeous and put-together. I tried to get her in the sack a few times, but she wanted an actual relationship, so she went for Derek. They became the absolute power couple, showing the perfect face to the world; she pushed him to work harder, and she was so proud of her accomplishment in getting him, in having it all, the career and the marriage. After med school, they got married and I was best man. Derek and Addison went to one hospital for their internship, and I went to another, but Manhattan isn't exactly big, so Derek and I still saw a lot of each other."

Mark paused to sip at his drink. "We're all the best in our fields; the ultimate trio. But working that hard meant that they didn't spend time on their marriage. I was fine with my sex with women. It doesn't take effort or time to have a one night stand; it's just physical relief. Derek and Addison started drifting apart, and I don't think Derek even noticed. As perfect as they seem to be, I'm really not sure she's the woman for him." He made a face, and turned to Meredith. "Derek believes in soul mates, and all that crap, which just makes me think he deserves that perfect someone that he wants. Sappy, isn't it?" Mark shook his head to clear it. "So, she's not his soul mate, or whatever. But she was getting bored of being ignored by him. The three of us had nights out, and Derek began to cancel more and more often for surgeries. Addison and I spent more and more time together, getting more and more…flirty, I guess. I had always wanted her."

He tipped his head back and drained the glass. "One day we just snapped, lots of drinking, and we ended up in bed. Woke up the next morning and we both panicked, promised not to tell Derek. But it was like a drug, we both kept coming back for more. I guess there was an appeal to sneaking around. I told myself that I loved her. It was the only way I could justify doing that to Derek. And maybe I did love her, maybe I do. It just shouldn't have happened. It wasn't worth hurting Derek. The look on his face when he walked in…"

After too long a pause, Meredith gave his arm a sympathetic squeeze. "So, I packed up and came here. It shouldn't be his job to have to avoid me every day, or explain to our friends why the two of us can't be around each other. So, Seattle, in all its…wet…is my new home."

"So, you're just going to avoid him forever?" Meredith asked.

"That's the plan," Mark nodded. "Hate me?"

She poured the last shot down her throat, "nope. Like I said, I've done some terrible things."

"Want to talk about it?" Mark asked.

"What are you, all full of sharing today?" There was still too much she had to hide, no matter what she wanted to say.

She received a glare in reply. "Had to get it out. It's a one time offer, Grey."

Meredith shook her head. "Maybe I'll force you into it some other time."

Mark nodded, and zipped up his leather jacket. "Nice talking to you, Grey," he said, dropping a wad of bills onto the bar. "I've got your tequila fix covered for tonight, but make sure you get Joe to call you a cab."

"Goodnight, Mark," she called, her eyes now scanning the bar for familiar faces. The only person she recognized was Alex who was watching her curiously over his foaming pint of beer.


	18. Chapter 18

**_"Any man who can drive safely while kissing a pretty girl is simply not giving the kiss the attention it deserves." – Albert Einstein_**

Amidst the bustling crowd of nurses, doctors and visitors buzzing around the surgical floor, Derek stood still and smiled. Today had been much less hellish than the recent weeks of pain. After his outburst in the marriage counsellor's office last week, things had remained strained for a day or two, but the release of emotions had been liberating; things were getting better. Not to say that he and Addison were anywhere close to fixing all their problems, but he could at least now occasionally see vestiges of the traits he most admired about his wife.

His wife. Even that phrase didn't sting as sharply as before; the pain had receded to a dull ache that could be ignored if he tried. He just had to try. Everything he had ever been taught, all the values his parents had instilled in him, had led to his strong belief in the sanctity of marriage. He had sworn vows, and he intended to see them through as best he could. It was his marriage; Addison was his family. It was worth it to try.

Despite this resolve, there was still a long way to go.

Derek tensed as he heard the click of designer heels on polished floors, accompanied by a whiff of delicate French perfume. He slowly rotated to face his wife, dressed in her usual New York chic wardrobe covered by an immaculately pressed lab coat.

She gave him a careful smile before leaning in close; his body automatically mimicked her actions in a long ago learned habit. For a few clumsy seconds the two awkwardly shifted their heads before briefly coming together in a fumbled bump of cheeks instead of the intended peck. Both separated and turned their faces away, embarrassed flushes staining their faces. Addison's eyes darted around the hallway, ensuring herself that no one had seen her graceless move.

"I, uh…" Addison cleared her throat. "I heard you were in today. How was your surgery?"

"Triad Allograft for posterior lumbar fusion; it's still an experimental surgery. It went well; I expect a full recovery. I'll have to keep checking on his progress, and future pain management, but it looks good." No matter how many incredible surgeries he performed, and even when discussing some more routine procedures, Derek could never prevent the pride in his accomplishments from manifesting in his voice.

"Congratulations," Addison smiled.

Derek leaned back against the top of the nurses' station. "How did your morning go?"

"Delivered triplets by caesarean; mother and babies are doing well," Addison leaned into the space beside him, her right hand flightily gesturing along with her words. "I'm still a little concerned about the lung strength of baby C, but with any luck a few nights in an incubator, and with a bit of weight gain, she'll be okay."

Derek nodded encouragingly.

They stood in silence for a few moments while the rest of the hospital moved around them. Derek had to wonder when they had lost the ability to have a conversation that was not related to work.

"So…" Derek began, uncertain what he intended to follow with.

"So…" Addison echoed in return.

"Hey Shep!" A loud male voice interrupted the deafening silence. "Oh, no, wait; it's both of you, New York's dream surgical couple!"

Derek and Addison both plastered on fake smiles as they turned in unison towards the approaching man. "Robin," Derek greeted, while Addison mumbled, "Dr. Richards."

"Great surgery, Shep," the orthopaedic surgeon boomed as he placed a staggering clap on Derek's shoulder. "One for the record books. I could only see the first half, of course, but it looked fantastic. Think you could fill me in on the rest of the procedure? That is, if your lovely wife doesn't mind me dragging you away." He winked at Addison. "But then, she gets you all to herself at home, don't you, little lady."

"Quite," Addison uttered.

"Come on, Robin," Derek began, rolling his eyes in Addison's direction. "Let's grab a coffee and I can tell you all about my surgery." He dropped a quick peck onto Addison's cheek, a more habitual unaffected kiss than the earlier attempt. "I'll see you at home, Addi."


	19. Chapter 19

**"_Never ignore a gut feeling, but never believe that it's enough." – Robert Heller _**

She felt like her head was in a cloud. Too many days of long hours, little sleep, and far too many worries had led to life passing her by in a blur. She was sick, and tired, and well, basically just exhausted. The ability to multi-task had been stripped away from her overtaxed brain and it was now only capable of focusing on one thing at a time.

Breathe in. Breathe out. Step forward with the right foot. Step forward with the left foot. Popped a glove while holding a heart.

'Burke would have noticed. He had to have,' she thought. 'The heart started again; it must be okay.' So why couldn't her mind let this go?

George was chattering as he stumbled along beside her. His voice was speeding along in a nervous monotone, but her mind couldn't focus in on the words. Although, George stammered like she did, so he had probably only made one point since they had met up outside the O.R.

The shining metal of the elevator doors loomed closer.

"Grey!" A voice pierced through her scattered thoughts, and her head swung in a slow turn towards Mark. "CABG with Burke this morning," he continued, "nice."

"Yeah," was all her flustered mind could formulate in reply, her eyes soon shifting back to the lit floor lights marking the elevator's ascent.

"And I saw that you held the heart. It's an amazing feeling. You never forget the first time." Mark paused and scratched his chin. "Of course, you never forget your first boob job either. There is something so satisfying about making women…"

"Yeah," Meredith agreed, before shaking herself once his words finally registered in her mind. "No. I mean…perv."

The elevator doors opened with a ding, and Meredith followed George into the enclosed box. "Bye," Meredith said to Mark's laughing figure as the doors shut the O.R. floor off from view.

She continued staring forward, her eyes focused on the distorted image of George reflected in the shining doors. With a tense roll of her neck, she forced herself to voice her fears: "I think maybe I did something to the heart when I was holding it. I nodded off a little; squeezed it."

Meredith watched George's head lift from the magazine he was rifling through to focus on her back. "The heart's a tough muscle," he shrugged. "It can take a squeeze or two."

"My fingernail popped the glove," she announced after a moment's hesitation. "Cut straight through. George, what if I punctured Mrs. Patterson's heart?"

George folded the magazine under his arm and stepped up beside her. This attempt at reassurance was not making her feel any better. His words only reinforced her own rationalizations, but the concerned feeling persisted. "If you had punctured it, you would have known when they reperfused. They got her heart beating. The woman's okay."

"So I shouldn't tell Burke?" Meredith just wanted someone else to tell her that she didn't have to admit her own mistake.

And George was just the guy for that; "tell him what? You know, um, nothing happened. The woman's okay, right?"

"She's okay," Meredith breathed.

The elevator shuddered to a halt two floors below the surgical floor, and the doors opened to reveal the scrub-clad figure of Alex Karev. His eyes trained onto Meredith as he shouldered the doors to keep them open. "Beat it, O'Malley," he ordered, his eyes never lifting from his target.

George threw Meredith a brief backwards glance as he surged forward and stumbled out of the elevator. Alex stepped forward and let the metal doors glide into place behind him.

"You're friends with Sloan," he stated, abruptly.

"Yes," Meredith agreed.

"I've seen you drinking with him a few times at Joe's," Alex paused, his eyes narrowed and his head cocked to the side as he considered Meredith. "You don't do many surgeries in plastics."

"No, doesn't really interest me," Meredith returned the searching look, trying to decide where this questioning would lead, and what Alex's opinions would be when it was through.

"Alright," his face relaxed a little, but retained a slightly puzzled frown. "And you're not sleeping with him either, I mean, I've seen him leave you and take other women home."

"No," Meredith stammered, "no sleeping with Mark. No interest whatsoever, I'm celibate, given up men so I can work. And Mark sleeps around a lot, I'll probably catch something. Not that I did the one time we had sex. But that was before I knew him, and never again and…shut up, Meredith."

Meredith stopped talking and fiddled with her watch band. Her companion stared at her in shocked silence. A deep, rumbling chuckle echoed around the confined box, and Meredith's head snapped towards Alex.

"Alright, Grey," he said, stepping forward as the doors sprang open. "See you around."

Meredith stared out at his retreating back. She stood still until the sliding doors encroached upon her vision and she slipped through the rapidly closing gap.

* * *

The nagging feeling in the back of her mind was persisting throughout the day. Even now as she methodically completed charts at the nurses' station, her head could only focus on Mrs. Patterson's heart. Her tired mind kept attempting to relive the squeeze to see if she could feel her nail puncturing a tear in the cardiac wall. It was too fuzzy to remember.

"You okay, Grey?" Mark's voice interrupted her thoughts as he dropped into the empty chair behind the desk. His left hand smoothed out a wrinkle in his dark blue scrubs, while his left balanced a cardboard cup filled with his usual bone-dry cappuccino.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm good," was her unfocused reply, her eyes darting from his relaxed form back to her scribbled writing on the open chart.

Mark's head dipped until it was in her sight line, his blue eyes looking up at her under the well shaped brows. "I don't believe you, Meredith. I've seen you looking better."

"I'm fine," Meredith repeated. She wasn't used to having people encroach on her personal life. But she had been almost opening up to Mark recently. She knew enough to know that they were scarily similar, and he was beginning to be able to read her like a book. She needed to get him off her back, "CABG was long."

"I'm thinking you'll need some tequila tonight. I'll buy you a round at Joe's," he offered.

"I can't," she replied. But it was oh, so tempting.

"Forget about the party," Mark said, pushing himself back away from the desk, letting his chair roll back swiftly and stop at the shelf behind him.

Now he had her attention, "you know about the party?"

"Your friends will be there," he continued, not listening to her questions. "You and I can get hammered at Joe's."

She would not be deterred. "How do you know about the party?"

"I was invited. Not by you, by the way, missy, but, some hot shrink from psych. I think it was Catherine…Caitlin…one of the two." Mark rubbed his hand along his chin and frowned as he failed to remember.

"Wait, there are random people from psych invited to the party?" Meredith's attempt to interrogate Mark was interrupted by her beeping pager. 911 for Mrs. Patterson. Perhaps she should have paid attention to that nagging feeling after all.


	20. Chapter 20

**"_Nothing makes you more tolerant of a neighbor's noisy party than being there." – Franklin P. Jones_**

It had been a long day full of nightmarish complications and Meredith just wanted to curl up in bed with a bottle of tequila and some strawberry ice cream. She drove along the dark roads toward her house, trying unsuccessfully to put her mother's legal papers, and her career-altering meeting with the Chief out of her head. Her mind was swirling with all the things that had gone wrong.

The car rolled to a stop at the lights, the bright red shining down through the unclean windscreen of her jeep. "Buy wiper fluid," she mumbled, dropping her seemingly too heavy head onto the steering wheel with a thunk. "Stupid nail popping through the glove," Meredith couldn't prevent the tirade, banging her head against the wheel in a steady, metronomic beat. "Stupid torn cardiac muscle. Stupid meeting with the chief. Stupid me for not saying anything earlier. Stupid, stupid, stupid me for finally saying it in front of the husband."

A horn blared from behind her, and she jerked upright, her foot slamming a little too quickly onto the gas pedal, thrusting the jeep forward into the intersection. Inhale. Exhale. Ease up on the gas. Rear view check. Horn guy was left in the dust.

Mark had asked her to go to Joe's tonight, and she really needed tequila right now, but she didn't think she had the energy to make it there and home. No, bed and tequila sounded pretty good.

She turned on to her street, frowning at the crush of cars crowding both sides of the paved road. There were hundred of people milling about, all closing in on one well lit house with blaring music.

Crap.

"Izzie," she growled as she pulled the jeep to a stop in the driveway. "I'm going to kill you." Meredith killed the engine and yanked the keys from the ignition, slamming her hand into the dashboard on the way. "Fuck!" She grabbed her bag from the passenger seat and flung open the car door, her injured finger already lifted to her mouth.

There were people everywhere: walking towards her house, socializing on her lawn and front porch, through the windows she could see the shadows of crowds of figures reflected in the closed curtains. A low growl escaped from the back of her throat. With a new found energy born in a fit of rage, Meredith stalked toward her open front door, shouldering past a group of vaguely familiar pit nurses without a backwards glance.

She stopped dead in the hall, unable to believe the sheer number of people now packed into her mother's house; her house. It was better to think of it as her house, her mother would have foamed at the mouth if she had seen this. Meredith rapidly took in the beer bottles and plastic cups littering the hardwood floor, the furniture all shoved to the side of the room, and the few brave drunken souls dancing wildly on top of the coffee table. One of her hands shot forward on reflex to save the glass lamp teetering on the nearby table; with her free hand she yanked the cable from its socket, gathering the slack in towards her chest.

So many people and not one she recognized above a passing glance in a crowded hospital hallway. Her eyes continued to scan the room, hunting for a familiar target, preferably a tall blonde who had very little time left to live. A familiar man with now messy brown hair stumbled towards her from the kitchen.

"Where is Izzie?" She asks in an angry yell.

George looked at her with wild eyes. "She didn't clear it with you." It came out as a panicked statement rather than a question. "I told her to clear it with you."

As much as she wanted to keep arguing with George, she just didn't have the energy. "I can't handle this."

"You want me to kick everyone out?" he asked her with a bravado born from one too many beers. "I'm going to kick everyone out."

Meredith almost smiled at his unrealistic offer. There was no way that George O'Malley could kick out one of the partiers, let alone all of them.

"Baby, you made it!" The joyful cry from her living room drew her attention to the very drunk looking Cristina standing on her coffee table, hips gyrating to the music.

"Screw this!" She announced. May as well make the best of a bad situation. The party was here, there was alcohol, everything she needed to escape her problems just for one night. Meredith thrust the lamp into George's chest, not even checking to ensure his hold on it before snatching the bottle of tequila from his hands.

With a bound she was up on the table beside Cristina, shimming wildly to the persistent beat, and pouring the fiery liquid into her awaiting mouth. After only a brief hesitation, George is up there as well, sandwiched between her and Cristina as she let the music and the alcohol chase her worries away.

* * *

The party was still going strong, but the mingling had tapered off into settled small groups. Her friends had abandoned her; Cristina had gone on the hunt for some hot doctor ass, or some more alcohol, or something…something important that she couldn't quite remember. George had pretty much passed out after being stripped to his boxers in the poker game he had sworn he would win. Like he could hold his alcohol better than her or Cristina. Amateur. He was already in bed, having passed out on top of his comforter within seconds of reaching his room.

Meredith needed space, and tequila. Lots of tequila. She stumbled out onto the porch for some air. The porch must be uneven; it was hard to walk on it. Her hips swayed to a slow tune playing in her head, as she tilted her throat back to welcome more of her liquid gold.

"You know, in some states you could get arrested for that," a deep laughing voice forced her to open her eyes and gaze at Mark's familiar figure. He was leaning against the hood of his car, his jean clad legs crossed at the ankles, and his black leather coat opened to reveal a tight grey t-shirt.

He walked toward her and dropped into the porch swing, patting the space beside him in welcome. She staggered forward, nearly careening into Mark's ribs when she fell into the seat. Mark shook his head in mock disapproval. "You got hammered without me! Think of all the fun we could be having at Joe's. He'll be upset that he's not your only supplier of tequila."

"Shut up," Meredith mumbled in a slur, knocking back a gulp of her favourite poison. She passed the bottle to Mark who took a swig.

"Actually, you probably shouldn't be hammered at all, given the big meeting with the Chief and Burke you have scheduled tomorrow morning," he grinned at her dirty look and ruffled her hair with one hand, using his other to tip another splash of tequila into his mouth. He made a face. "How do you drink this stuff?"

Meredith's hand scrambled for the bottle, clutching it to her chest. "Jose is the one man who has stood by me all these years. I love him."

Mark looked down at her with a smirk. "That's just sad, Grey."

"I don't see you in any meaningful relationship," Meredith countered, turning her body so that her back rested against the arms of the swing, and swinging her feet up to tuck under Mark's thigh. "Where's your psych chick? I thought you had a date to this, or whatever."

"She found out about the club," Mark groaned, his head falling forward in a rueful shake. "I'm going to need some fresh meat."

"Or some fresh material," Meredith giggled.

"Shush, you." Mark ordered with a growl.

The two friends sat in silence for a while, watching as staggered groups of partiers exited her house without so much as a glance in their direction. The night-time chill descended and Meredith couldn't help the shiver that ran down her spine.

"Party's winding down," Mark announced. "We should sneak inside."

"We?" She giggled. "I didn't invite you in."

He shrugged. "I invited myself. Not like I haven't seen the place before. Although, you never did give me the full tour…"

Meredith pinched his bicep through his leather jacket. "And you're not going to get a tour, ass. That and my roommates don't know…"

"Don't know what, Dr. Grey?" The sharp voice caused Meredith to jump, falling off the swing with a thud.

"Ow," Meredith yelped. She dropped her right hand to rub at the dull pain in her ass.

"You okay, Grey?" Mark asked, waiting for her nod before turning to the short resident standing with her arms crossed, staring him down. "Miranda."

"That's Dr. Bailey to you, Dr. Sloan," she ordered. "What are you doing messing about with my intern?"

"I'm not messing with your intern," Mark announced, his words echoed drunkenly by Meredith, who had just managed to pull herself back onto the swing. "We're friends."

"Friends," Dr. Bailey repeated, one eyebrow raised sceptically. "I've heard all about your 'friends,' Dr. Sloan, and all your meetings with them inside and outside of my hospital. You're little club," she continued, waving her hands in the air in front of her, "gossips about you all the time—don't look so proud of that! I don't want to hear about your pick up techniques when I'm working, and I don't want you trying them on my interns!"

"Sorry to disappoint, Dr. Bailey, but we really are friends. Actual conversation, the occasional drink after work, no sex," Mark explained with a shrug.

"No sex," Meredith repeated, thrusting one finger into the air in front of her face. "Not ever…not…no sex."

"You see?" Mark grinned, pushing Meredith's hands down to her lap.

"Hmmm," Dr. Bailey narrowed her eyes at the pair.

"Although, Dr. Bailey," the familiar smirk had returned to Mark's face. "If you're interested in the club's discussions, I'd be happy to show you first hand what they're talking about." He waggled his eyebrows in her direction.

"Nasty," Bailey announced, her hand rising to smack the back of his head. "I don't know why she's friends with you."

"I don't either," Meredith responded with a giggle. She ignored Mark's sputter of protest and made her way inside. She had gotten the tequila she wanted tonight, now she just needed her bed.

* * *

A bleary eyed Meredith removed a shirt from her drawers and pulled it over her aching head. Hangovers and important meetings were not a good combination. She needed coffee and Tylenol.

George's door opened as she walked past. The two roommates stared at each other, taking in their dishevelled states; the tangled hair, and the dark circles under the eye. "You look as good as I feel," Meredith croaked. "Coffee?"

"Yeah."

They stopped still at the base of the stairs and surveyed with wide eyes, the destruction that was their main floor. There were bottles everywhere, mostly intact, but a few dark shards were scattered over the Persian rug in the entrance way. Plastic cups in various states of emptiness littered the area, some upright, and others dripping slowly into accumulated pools of liquid. A few of the paintings Izzie had hung with such care were tilted in place. It was going to take forever to clean.

"You two want coffee?" The voice from behind them made the pair jump and whirl to face the bright eyed plastic surgeon extending two mugs of coffee towards their limp hands.

"Mark!" Meredith screeched, and then winced, her hand flying up to massage at the ache in her temple. "Mark," she continued in a quieter tone. "What are you doing here?"

"Crashed on the couch," he gestured with his chin towards the living room. Meredith noted the lack of garbage on the makeshift bed. "I didn't feel like driving after all the tequila. Take your coffee."

He pressed the mugs into their hands and pushed them into the living room. All three dropped onto the couch.

"Grey," Mark spoke after a minute of silence. "O'Malley is staring at me."

Meredith looked up from her coffee mug to find George gaping at Mark, his eyes wide and unblinking. "Mark's a friend of mine, George. But he doesn't normally sleep over," she growled the last bit in Mark's direction.

"Oh," George breathed. He shook his head as if to clear it, and winced in pain. "When's your meeting with the Chief?"

"In an hour," Meredith sighed.

The sound of a key turning in the lock drew everyone's attention to the front door. A tired Izzie walked in and stopped dead at the sight before her. "Holy mother of destruction."

"You missed Doctorpalooza," Meredith announced, sucking back the last few drops of coffee. She waved off Izzie's apologies, her mind focused on her upcoming meeting.

"Anything in the patient's history?" Izzie's voice broke through her wandering thoughts.

Meredith shook her head, her eyes fixed on the blonde raising a half empty bottle of beer to her lips. "The husband says she was in the best shape of her life. She lost 100 pounds last year."

"One hundred pounds in a year?" Izzie's eyebrows lift in surprise. "How's her muscle mass?"

"That's a good question, you know," Mark agreed with a slight frown. "Come on Grey, up you get. You've got to get some research done. I'll drive you in."

Meredith let Mark drag her to her feet. She went to grab her coat and shoes.

As she was closing the front door she heard Izzie ask: "what was Dr. Sloan doing here?" Meredith paused, briefly, but decided to let George explain what he could. She'd have to handle the rest sooner or later.


	21. Chapter 21

**_"Ama me fideliter!/Fidem meam noto:/De corde totaliter/Et ex mente tota,/Sum presentialiter/Absens in remota."_  
_(__Lat__: "Love me faithfully!/See how I am faithful:/With all my heart/And all my soul/I am with you/Though I am far away.") – __Anon. __Carmina Burana__, "Omnia Sol Temperat"_**

Derek pulled the car into the garage and quieted the rumbling engine, watching in the rear view mirror as the door began to shut automatically behind him. The only sources of light were the headlights of the car casting long, strange shadows over the neatly stacked boxes, the ordered wall of tools, and the haphazard collection of fishing rods leaning against the corner. He switched off the headlights and was plunged into darkness.

He had a feeling.

The last time he had felt this feeling, he had found Addison and Mark screwing each other in his bed. He hoped he wasn't in for a repeat performance. Or did he? There was a tiny voice in the back of his head, a very, very quiet voice that murmured only on the occasions when he let his guard down. The ghost of a whisper asking if it was worth it; if he really wasn't looking for an excuse to end this charade sooner rather than later.

He shook his head and grasped for the briefcase on the passenger seat. There was nothing wrong. But the mood persisted, and he kept the garage lights off; he didn't want to see anything. Of course, that meant he had to fumble with his keys on his way to the inside door. Fuck. And trip over an old can of paint.

Derek stepped into the silent, dark interior, dropping his briefcase just inside the open door to his study. "Addison," he called out. "I'm home."

Silence.

The uneasy feeling in his stomach began to grow, twisting and gnawing at his insides. Derek rubbed his damp palms against the fabric of his slacks. She was here. Her car was in the driveway. His wife was in the house somewhere and not answering. He couldn't help but wonder if she was alone.

He took a deep breath and started up the stairs, his feet hitting every second step in quick succession. "Addison?"

Still nothing.

But he hadn't seen any familiar leather jackets lying on the floor.

His pace slowed as he reached the landing. The long cream coloured hallway looked longer than it ever had before. Derek walked toward the closed bedroom door; one foot in front of the other. His breathing rate slowed to a crawl but his heart began to race, a physiological contradiction that made his head spin and his stomach roll. He halted his forward progression at the door, dropping his forehead to rest against the dark wood as he forced himself to inhale two gasping breaths. His bedroom, or former bedroom; the threshold he hadn't crossed since that night so many weeks ago. Derek squeezed his eyes shut tight as the sight of Addison's naked form draped over Mark's torso flashed in front of him.

He had to know.

With a determination he hadn't been certain he possessed; he turned the knob and swung the door open, surging into the master bedroom.

It was empty, ordered in Addison's usual care, the bed immaculately made. Derek felt his knees weaken, and his arm shot out to grasp the nearby bookshelf tightly. A battery of mixed emotions flooded his mind and his knuckles turned white from the force of the grip. It was empty.

"Hey stranger," Derek's head jerked towards Addison's voice, and he saw her standing at the doorway of the en suite bathroom, a silk robe wrapped tightly around her slender frame. "I was hoping you'd come in here tonight."

Derek could only make a vague, incoherent sound, his body and mind still reeling from the anxiety of the last few minutes.

"I was thinking," Addison continued, stepping towards him slowly, "that there is something else we could do to get back to where we were before…all this."

Derek's eyes widened and he slowly backed away as she moved closer. His unsteady knees hit the edge of the bed and he sat down hard on the mattress. "Addison….I…"

"I was thinking we should have sex tonight," Addison blurted in a rush, her robe dropping to the floor and puddling at her feet.

He stared at the expanse of bare flesh: the long, sculpted legs; the toned, flat belly; the delicate tracery of her collarbone arching into an elegant line of neck and throat. She wasn't naked, her breasts and privates encased in wisps of expensive, black French lace. Addison was a very beautiful woman. At one point he considered her the most attractive woman he had ever met: tall, shapely and poised. Now, he still knew she was beautiful, but her image was tainted.

Derek sat paralyzed as he was inundated by flashes of that night. The details he had hoped to forget brought into appalling focus in his mind's eye: the beads of sweat rolling down the ridges of Addison's naked spine as her back arched over Mark's torso, the contorted expression of pleasurable pain on his former best friend's bearded face, the frenzied thrust of two pelvises moving in synch, Mark's large hands gripping the taut flesh of Addison's buttocks, Addison's long fingers pinching her own nipples into hardened peaks. The groans, sighs and screams as the two figures created ripples on the bed.

Oh god, he was sitting on the bed.

Derek leapt to his feet, stumbling backwards towards the open door. "Addison," he exhaled between desperate gasps for air. "I can't. Oh god, I can't."

He made it to the guest room, his recent bedroom, in seconds, collapsing against the shut door. He was drowning; he needed to breathe. Derek staggered forward on unsteady feet, sinking slowly to sit on the edge of the bed. He dropped his face between his knees to prevent the contents of his roiling stomach from making a reappearance.

The muscles of his body tensed in unison at the soft knock on the door. "Yes?" he croaked.

Addison stepped into the room, leaning against the inside of the doorframe, but not moving closer. Her robe was once again covering her body, the sash cinched in a severe knot at the waist. Tiny rivulets of mascara traced lines down her pale face. "You couldn't look at me," she whispered, a far cry from her usual confidence. "Do you really hate me that much for what I did?"

"I still see it," Derek exhaled. "I can see the two of you on the bed." He took a deep breath and let it out in an angry hiss. "The same bed Addison. Did you really think I was going to fuck you on the same bed that he did? He was the last man in that bed."

Addison whimpered. "I just want things to be back to what they were Derek. Is that even possible? What are we doing here?" Her voice was rising with each word. "I want you to try. You don't say anything in therapy; you barely talk to me outside of work. We're not having sex. We were good at sex, Derek. What do want this to be, a celibate marriage?" She paused and continued in a quieter tone, a sheen of tears glistening over her grey-blue eyes. "You have to give me something here, Derek. I need to know that you want this, that we have something to fight for, because I think we do, but if you don't…"

"I don't know," Derek interrupted in a low tone. He looked at her with sad, red rimmed eyes. "Right now, Addison, I don't know."

"Okay," Addison whispered, the tears overflowing to run lines down her cheeks. "Just…let me know."

Derek nodded, returning his gaze to the floor between his feet.

"Goodnight Derek," she breathed, shutting the door softly behind her.

Derek couldn't reply, but he knew she waited for over a minute of silence before he heard her feet pad quietly down the hall to the master bedroom. He fought the urge to scream. His hands dragged through his now messy curls, gripping tightly onto a few curly locks and tugging hard; anything to distract him from the pain and nausea overwhelming the rest of his body.

He fell back on the bed, staring up at the flat white ceiling and wishing things were different. It wasn't supposed to be this hard. This was never supposed to happen. He was supposed to have the happily ever after with the love of his life. Adultery and anger should never have entered the picture.

That quite voice was back, a little louder this time, questioning if Addison was the love of his life. He believed in soul mates, but no soul mate would cheat on her husband. He wasn't naïve enough to think that life would be completely idyllic, but this amount of cruelty and hurt shouldn't happen in the happily ever after. For the first time in over a decade, a tiny part of his mind began to question if he and Addison were meant to be; if she really was the love of his life. There was that shining possibility that somewhere there was someone who would fit perfectly into his existence, and turn his world on its head. He just wasn't sure if he wanted to look, or if it was possible to find her.

There was a crack on the ceiling, a spindly tendril winding out from the overhead light. An imperfection in Addison's idyllic home, and yet it suited him just fine. It made the immaculate setting a little homier, a little more him.

He had refused sex with his gorgeous wife who had offered herself to him on a platter. He was questioning his marriage, those important vows which he had sworn eleven years ago: to love, honour and cherish his wife forever. He wasn't sure if that trust could be regained. He…he needed a drink.

Derek rolled onto his side and snaked an arm over the side of the bed, feeling around under the side table for the bottle of scotch. He heaved himself into sitting position and grabbed the glass from the nightstand, filling it to the brim with the amber brew.


	22. Chapter 22

**_The men who succeed are the efficient few. They are the few who have the ambition and will power to develop themselves. – __Herbert N. Casson_**

With a final shoddy turn, Meredith pulled her jeep into the nearest available parking space, too harried to care that the vehicle was stopped on an angle and much too close to one of the faded paint lines. She scrambled out of the driver's seat, slamming the door behind her.

"Crap!" She shouted, spinning back towards the car. She opened the door with a hasty turn of the key, leaning her upper body over the front seat to reach for her bag. "Crap, crap, crap, crap, crap," she muttered in a steady monotone.

In her hurry, she barely noticed the car pulling in just behind her. With bag in hand, she slammed the door again; pivoting in place she crashed into Mark's broad chest.

"Crap!"

"Crap?" Mark asked, as his hands shot forward to steady her. "What a delightful greeting. Are you this nice to all your friends?"

"I'm late," Meredith announced over her shoulder, already hurrying towards the hospital's glass doors. Mark followed quickly behind her. "Because I didn't want to get out of bed this morning, and I kept pushing the snooze button, which was stupid. And you're here, which means I'm really late, because I'm not supposed to be getting here at the same time as you. Oh god, I got here at the same time as you, and Bailey is already suspicious. This is bad, I'm trying to prove myself as a surgeon, and I've been messing up lately, and then the you thing, and..."

"Calm down, Grey," Mark ordered as they came to a stop in front of the elevators. "Geez, woman, you get yourself worked up too easily." Mark turned to face her. "Bailey thinks we're friends. She knows I don't request you; you're never on Plastics; and she knows that I hate interns, so there's nothing to worry about. And the heart thing with Burke will blow over. Besides, Drake loves you, if anything; Bailey should be worried about you having something going on with him."

Meredith scrunched up her nose and raised her hand to smack Mark's chest. "Ew, Mark. No sleeping with people to get ahead. And poor Dr. Drake!"

Mark paused, "you're right. Drake has better taste. Ow! Don't hit!"

"Jackass!" Meredith hissed. She looked up at the lit numbers above the elevator and cursed it for moving so slowly. "I'm late," she repeated, not even saying a goodbye as she turned and dashed for the stairs.

* * *

Meredith rushed into the intern locker room, already in the process of peeling off her shirt as she shouldered open the door. Within seconds she was stripped to her underwear, stumbling over her final pant leg as she reached her locker and yanked it open. She pulled on her rumpled scrubs, cursing the unprofessional appearance that they would create. "Note to self," she mumbled, "do laundry."

She was pulling her lab coat on when Cristina stumbled into the room. 'Interesting,' she thought, raising one eyebrow at her friend. "You're late," she announced, deciding to stick with the direct approach.

"So are you," Cristina reciprocated, whisking off her pants and trading them for scrubs.

"I know, I slept in; which is bad because I'm trying to redeem myself from the heart thing and the Jorge thing; but you're never late," Meredith swung her stethoscope around her shoulders, and began yanking her hair up into its customary ponytail, her questioning gaze still levelled at Cristina.

"Meredith," Cristina began, slamming her locker closed, "shut up."

The two interns scurried out of the locker room, Meredith hard on Cristina's heels.

"Seriously!" she hissed, as they made their way to catch up with Bailey and the other interns. "Did you seriously just tell me to shut up? No story?"

"Yes, seriously," Cristina answered, as they nearly collided into Izzie's back. "Stop whining about it." Meredith and Cristina attempted casual stances, trying to return their breathing to normal as quietly as they could.

"Meredith, Cristina, you're both late!" Dr. Bailey announced in her customary harsh tone. "Don't make a habit of it." She shushed their attempts at apology, moving straight back to business for rounds. "When we walk in this door, you will maintain decorum. You will not laugh, vomit, or drop you jaw. Are we understood?"

* * *

Meredith leaned against the wall staring at the closed door to the CT room, worrying her lower lip between her teeth. She knew that as interns you feel terrified one hundred percent of the time, but right now she felt worse than usual. It wasn't even something that would normally cause her to worry, but she really wanted to get back in everyone's good graces, and with her past few cases, the party and being late today, Drs. Bailey, Burke and Drake were not exactly her biggest fans. Of course, they all had to be in the same room, behind that shut door she was staring down, looking at the results of Annie's massive tumor and discussing possible surgical options. They were doing something important, and she didn't want to interrupt.

The door opened to show Dr. Drake, his head turned back towards the interior of the room as he passed along one final comment on the upcoming surgery. Meredith took a deep breath. "Dr. Drake," she called, watching as his eyes swung to her. "Mr. Levangie, the Parkinson's patient, is he a good candidate for DBS?"

Dr. Drake frowned a little, considering her. "Yes, but he's not interested."

Meredith inhaled slowly, and exhaled with a sigh, "Ok, but I think it's worth talking to him again, pushing him. And I know that I did that with Sona and Jorge and you didn't approve, but this would really improve his quality of life. I think it's worth a try."

The rambling stopped when a warm hand rested on her shoulder. Dr. Drake smiled down at her. "Let's go chat," he said, waving goodbye to Dr. Bailey as he escorted Meredith into a conference room with a gentle hand in the small of her back.

"Dr. Grey," he began, as he ushered her toward a nearby chair, and seating himself across from her. "I will admit that your actions with Sona were not up to the standard I had come to expect from you, but you're an intern, and you aren't supposed to be perfect. In fact, you are supposed to be very much a work-in-progress. Up until then you had completed much more of your progress than your fellow interns, especially in neurological work. One set back isn't going to change my opinion of you, and neither will two or three, just as long as you keep up the good work otherwise." He paused and smiled. "Now, this morning you answered my questions without referencing your notes, and knew material that had your fellow interns stumped, so I am delighted to have you on this case and on any future neuro case if you continue to prove yourself."

"Thank you," Meredith mumbled, looking up from her clasped hands into his kind eyes.

"You're welcome," he replied, leaning forward to squeeze her joined hands with his own. "Now, I do appreciate you checking with me this time, before discussing options with the patient and his family. Mr. Levangie, as you know, refused DBS when I discussed it with him earlier. However, I agree that it would be an excellent option for him. Perhaps we should try after inserting the intraspinal catheter this morning? Maybe once he sees that I am not a totally incompetent surgeon, he will agree to let me tinker with his brain."

Meredith snorted, "can I suggest you don't refer to it as 'tinkering' when you ask him to reconsider?"

"That might be an idea," Dr. Drake agreed with a chuckle. "Perhaps I should let you do it instead. He seemed to like you."


	23. Chapter 23

**_"The way to get started is to quit talking and begin doing." – Walt Disney_**

Meredith brought a forkful of salad greens to her lips, thankful for the dousing of dressing which made the limp leaves slightly more palatable. Everything in a hospital tasted like…hospital. No wonder patients wanted out of here fast.

"He's refusing surgery," she stated to Cristina, frowning at the puddle of green mush on her plate that she suspected had once been peas.

"Who?" Cristina asked around a mouthful of food.

"Mr. Levangie, my Parkinson's patient. He doesn't want DBS." Meredith dropped her cutlery, pushing the tray toward the center of the table and leaning back in her chair.

"That would be a great surgery," Cristina let out an almost wistful sigh. "Maybe you can watch the tumor removal from the gallery."

"While you get to stand front and center?" Meredith asked, tossing a piece of lettuce at Cristina. "Lucky me."

"Hey, it's not my fault you nominated yourself for the brain brigade today," Cristina tossed a piece of bread back in retaliation.

"Is it true you get to scrub in on that tumor?" Alex asked as he placed his tray on the table and dropped into the seat beside Meredith.

"Don't sit here," Cristina demanded, frowning at Alex and the perky looking Izzie who arrived just after.

"You get to scrub in?" Izzie asked, her face alternating in a bizarre sequence of excitement and jealousy. "How psyched are you?"

Cristina gave her slightly twisted version of a grin. "On a scale of one to ecstatic: ecstatic."

"It's unbelievable," Alex grumbled. "You know what I think? I think Burke wants to get into your scrubs."

Meredith flicked Alex's shoulder while Cristina pulled a disgusted face and asked him: "why are you sitting here?"

"He kicked me off that surgery for the same crap you pull every day," Alex argued, taking a bite out of his sandwich.

"You know what," Cristina turned to Meredith lifting her utensils into the air. "If I stuck this fork into his thigh, would I get in trouble?"

Meredith paused to consider the plastic implement, and shrugged. "Not if you make it look like an accident."

Alex's splutter of protest was interrupted by George's arrival.

"Hey Mer," he began in a nervous stutter. "Any cool surgeries lined up for this afternoon?"

"Only if I can get my patient to agree," she groaned. "And don't tell me you're going to gloat about getting in on the tumor surgery too."

"No!" George protested. "No, no! I wouldn't do…I mean, it's a great surgery and all, but, well, I was hoping you'd have one too, and then maybe tonight, uh, if, you know, if you drink alcohol, I mean…we could, all of us, I mean, go out and drink alcohol...to celebrate the surgeries."

Meredith's struggle to follow George's dizzying sentence was interrupted by her beeping pager. "Oh, Mr. Levangie's awake," she announced after checking the flashing message. "I've got to go."

Meredith waved a quick goodbye to her fellow interns as she dashed out of the cafeteria.

* * *

She couldn't believe she had gotten him to agree. Of course, Mr. Levangie did have to place conditions on his agreement, and make his final decision after Dr. Drake had left to scrub in on the tumor surgery. So, now she had to brave the scrub room and see if she could steal him away.

"Dr. Drake," she called, entering the scrub room to see the attending scrubbing under his fingernails. Drs. Burke and Bailey were standing at the sinks as well, the hot water cascading over their waiting hands.

"Yes, Dr. Grey?" he responded with a smile. "What can I do for you?"

"Mr. Levangie," she began, willing herself not to ramble or stammer in making this speech in front of three of her bosses. "He and I kept talking after you left, and he has agreed to DBS, but only if we do it today. If he leaves, he won't come back."

"I'm impressed, Dr. Grey, I didn't think anything would get him to agree. I told you he liked you." Dr. Drake winked at her before he turned to face the other surgeons. "Well, Dr. Burke, I suppose you can start without me. You'll have plenty to do, and I'm sure to be finished this before you get around to the important part." Dr. Drake offered Burke an innocent grin, ignoring the visibly twitching muscle on the other surgeon's jaw.

Dr. Burke spun around to thump his elbow against the automatic door opener; all but storming into the increasingly busy O.R. Dr. Drake chuckled as he dried his hands, winking once more at Meredith as he exited the scrub room.

Meredith fought against all her involuntary reflexes to gulp as Bailey turned sharply in her direction. "You're friends with Sloan," she barked in her typical blunt manner.

"Yes," Meredith agreed. "But I didn't know…that he was my boss when I met him. I mean, we met before we both worked here, and I didn't know."

"I don't care," Bailey interrupted. "I don't care about your history or want the full story or anything. Do I look like some kind of gossip to you?"

"No," Meredith shook her head quickly, "but you asked, so I…"

"I'm not some kind of gossip! I'm trying to decide how you being friends with my boss is going to affect my day. Whether you knew him before or after you started working here doesn't matter," she paused to squint at Meredith, crossing her arms tightly over her chest. "You're never on Plastics cases."

"No," Meredith agreed in a low tone.

"He doesn't request you. He doesn't even like interns. Stupid attending at a teaching hospital making his interns get dry cleaning…"

"No," Meredith interrupted. "I think that's the problem. He would feel bad making me get him coffee."

"Hmmm," Bailey pursed her lips. "Alright for now. Go do your surgery. But don't blame me if the other interns get angry with you for your taste in friends. And they'd better not come to complain about it to me! Are we understood?"

"Yes, Dr. Bailey."

"Good," Bailey announced, turning back towards the sinks and restarting the steady stream of hot water.

* * *

"Well, Dr. Grey, a successful procedure," Dr. Drake smiled at her over Mr. Levangie's bed as they pushed it down the hallway toward the elevators. "You did very good work today."

"Thank you, Dr. Drake," Meredith grinned softly in return.

"You should be glad that you had such a convincing young intern with an interest in your case, Mr. Levangie," he told the resting man as they reached the elevators.

"Don't I know it," the patient agreed. "You did good, Blondie. I'm glad I listened to you, even if it was only to get you off my back."

Meredith reached down to squeeze his hand. "I'm glad it paid off, and I don't have to nag you any more."

The sound of Dr. Drake's pager drew the attention of all three. "Don't let us keep you," Meredith smiled. "Good luck on the surgery."

* * *

Meredith entered the O.R. gallery after getting Mr. Levangie settled back in his room. One cool surgery already today and there was no way she was missing out on watching any more of this one.

"God, it's unbelievable," she whispered, her eyes focused in on the massive tumor as she sunk into the seat beside Alex. "How did she live like that?"

"Watch what you say," he warned. "You never know who's listening." A burst of mocking laughter escaped his mouth. "Look at George; he looks like he's about to fall in."

Meredith turned her head to consider Alex's profile. "Are you really as shallow and callous as you seem?"

Alex smirked at her, his eyes now watching her face rather than the surgery. "Oh, you want to go out for a drink later and hear about my secret pain?"

Meredith let out a wry giggle. "Does that line ever work for you?"

"Sometimes," Alex responded with a shrug.

"Oh," she responded, returning her gaze to the surgery below. "Must be because you look like that."

"Like what?" Alex asked, before he laughed as it dawned on him. "So is that a yes?"

"No."

"Because of Sloan?" He asked, his brows furrowing into a crease in the center of his forehead.

"Nah," Meredith shook her head. "I told you before, no. I just don't want to go out with you."

"Well, fine," Alex shrugged nonchalantly. "I'm a pretty crappy boyfriend anyway, and I don't get the impression that you'd be the perfect girlfriend either."

Meredith gave a nod of acceptance, but flicked his arm anyway.

"But you know," he continued, the smirk growing, "we could just do it and be a very twisted couple. Or just have a really hot night…"

"Jackass," Meredith muttered with a grin, lifting her left arm up to slap his chest.

Alex's verbal retaliation was interrupted by Izzie rushing into the O.R. below. The normally exuberant blonde radiated nervousness and exhaustion as she spoke to Dr. Burke: "Mr. Harper, the post-op heart patient in 2114. I had to open his sternotomy bedside."

"What?" Alex shouted from his seat beside Meredith, leaping up from his position to race out the gallery door.

"Damn," Meredith whispered, leaning forward to catch all the details.

* * *

With a final drag of a brush through her golden brown hair, Meredith was ready to go. She grabbed her jacket from its crumpled heap on the bed, pulling it over her shoulders as she reached for her purse. Opening her bedroom door she nearly collided with George.

"Hey!" he exclaimed, his eyes wide and skittish.

"Hey George, what's up?"

"Beer. I mean, I have some, or we have some, because we all paid for groceries, but I have two here. Do you want some?" He held out two green glass bottles, almost shoving them towards her in his eagerness.

"Thanks for the offer, George," Meredith said with a smile, "but I'm off to meet Mark at Joe's. Do you and Izzie want to come?"

"Mark?" George paused. "Oh! Dr. Sloan! No, no…I think I'll stay home. Maybe some other time."

"Sure, George," she called, turning to walk down the stairs. "Some other time."

* * *

"Day of work went okay?" Mark asked, sliding a beer in her direction as she slipped onto the stool beside him. "Despite all your horrible fears for how it would go?"

"Yep, you were right," Meredith agreed, taking a sip.

"I'm sorry, what?" he inquired, grinning wolfishly. "I think I might need to hear that again."

"Shut up," she giggled. "You're so full of yourself."

"Well, I can think of someone else who's going to be full of me tonight," Mark said in an almost predatory growl, nodding towards a pair of attractive women in cocktail dresses looking a little out of place in the casual atmosphere of the Emerald City Bar.

"Go for it, tiger," Meredith rooted. "Bonus points if you get both at the same time."

"Don't tempt me, Grey," Mark muttered. "Finish your beer."

Meredith waved him off, giggling to herself.

"Will I get in trouble for taking his seat?" A tired voice asked from behind her. Meredith turned to see a haggard looking Alex slumping onto the stool, his elbows coming to rest heavily on the counter top.

"Nah," Meredith shook her head. "He's got company for the night."

"She died," Alex stated, his eyes staring straight at the rows of bottles behind the bar.

"That sucks."

"Yeah," he agreed.

"Buy you a drink?" Meredith offered, already lifting one tiny hand to beckon Joe.

"Sure thing, Grey."


	24. Chapter 24

**_Advice is what we ask for when we already know the answer but wish we didn't. – Erica Jong_**

It was a beautiful home, almost idyllic from the outside. It harkened the mind back to the nuclear family ideals of the 1950s, and the concept of the American Dream. A white picket fence separated the sidewalk from the perfectly mowed lawn; manicured garden beds with carefully pruned flowers flourished against the cream coloured stucco walls. Over the shingled roof, the lush foliage of tall oaks and ash trees peeked above from the backyard. It looked nearly perfect, but there were aspects that made it a home: the bicycle leaning against the garage door, a torn chew toy poking out from beneath a shrub by the front door, and the loud rock music filtering down from an upstairs window. It looked lived in. His and Addison's house looked similarly perfect, but gave off the air of a museum or a hotel. A place to sleep, not a home.

Derek was torn. He wanted someone to talk to, someone who understood his upbringing; someone who would listen; he just wasn't sure he wanted her to know. He loved her, but he wanted a bit of distance. It was a whim to come here, but she did live the closest.

With slow steps Derek made his way to the porch. He stood and stared through the frosted glass windows in the warm wood door. There were moving shadows in the kitchen; she was definitely home. Derek forced his hesitant hand to ring the doorbell then immediately turned away to gaze down the suburban street, both hands now lifted to tug through the dark thatch of curls.

"Derek?" he heard the familiar melodic voice behind him. "What are you doing here?"

"Kath…" it came out choked; unwitting tears stung at his tired eyes.

"Oh Der," his sister whispered, stepping forward to gather him into her arms. Derek's weight sagged into hers as he clutched her tightly to his chest. A few scattered tears leaked down his unshaven cheeks. "Come on in," she murmured, "we'll have a chat."

Derek swiped his hands quickly over his face, turning to follow his sister into her home.

"You want a drink?" she called from the kitchen, her hands poised to open the cupboard door.

"Yeah, sure," Derek croaked, dropping heavily onto a stool at the kitchen island, his elbows coming to rest on the hard surface in front of him. He closed his eyes and rested his forehead in his clasped hands.

The clink of glass on granite forced him to lift his head.

"Kath…" he growled, eyes fixed on the tall glass.

"What?" she asked, seating herself across from him, her own glass in hand. "We always used to drink chocolate milk when you were upset. This looks like it calls for it," she frowned at him. "Did you think I was offering you alcohol? The kids are home; we can't do that. Actually, you should try to look a little happier. They'll be in and out of here, and they'll want to talk with their favourite uncle."

Derek snorted. "I assume the loud rock music is Daniel's doing?"

"Yeah, the joys of teenagers," Kath smiled ruefully. "You should hear what it's like when he decides to practice drumming."

"Ouch."

"You'll find out what it's like one of these days, if you ever give Mom her Shepherd grandkids. You know she won't just be satisfied with the fourteen grandchildren she already has." Kathleen paused at the pained look on Derek's face. "Okay, Derek, you have to spill."

He looked down at the tabletop, drawing lines between the circles of condensation left by his glass.

"We've been patient, you know," she began. "Mom's been nearly frantic with worry. You and Addison aren't answering any of her calls, or any of mine, or Nancy's, or Susan's, or Ali's. We know you're busy with work, but not returning messages? It's been weeks, Derek. And…" she paused and dropped her voice into a low tone, "no one can find Mark. All of his phone numbers have been disconnected. All we know is that he called Mom a few weeks ago and told her that he was 'so sorry' then hung up." Derek swayed on his seat, his hands clenched into too tight fists. "What's going on?"

"She…she…and he…" Derek gasped a few heaving pants of air, unclenching his fists to spread widely onto the countertop. "She cheated on me," he whispered, "with Mark." Kathleen's startled intake of breath gave him the strength to continue, relieved to know that someone felt anywhere near as appalled as he did. "I walked in on them in bed together. In my bed; in my house. My wife and my fucking best friend." He exhaled heavily. "I walked out, went to a hotel, came back a few days later. We've been going to couples therapy. And I haven't seen Mark," he spat out the name through gritted teeth.

"Oh god," she whispered. "Derek…I…I probably should have given you alcohol."

He let out a bitter chuckle. "I think I may have had enough scotch in the past few weeks, thanks."

"What are you going to do?" she asked, the hesitance obvious in her soft voice.

"I don't know any more," Derek sighed. "I think that's why I'm here."

"I can't tell you what to do, Derek, you know that." She reached her hand forward to squeeze his.

Derek nodded. "I think I just need someone to listen, someone who isn't my grinning marriage therapist who just smiles and nods and tells us we've make good progress when I feel like we've gone nowhere," he sighed and looked down at his hands. "Nobody in this family divorces."

"That's true," Kathleen agreed after a long pause, "but divorce wasn't an option until recently, and none of us have ever had the need to."

"Oh, great, so then I'm the failure whose marriage has been ruined beyond repair," Derek scoffed. "Not something I want to be known for, Kath."

"It sounds to me like it was Addison's fault, and…" she inhaled shakily, "and Mark's."

"Yeah," Derek exhaled. "We were making improvements, you know, with the therapy; talking more than we have in years. It's sad that it came to this. I made a vow, a promise all those years ago, Kath. I can't let them go so easily, or just cut her out of my life. She's been my family for so long."

"So, what's the setback now?"

Derek groaned, his throat raw. "She wanted sex last night; and I know you don't want to hear about this Kath, because I know that I still hold on to the belief that all four of your children were immaculately conceived; but she wanted sex, and all I could see was the two of them together. I just…need to know that the sickened feeling is going to go away if I'm going to continue with this. I need to know that I will be able to get back to the feelings of love without it being tainted by the image of my naked wife sprawled over my best friend's chest."

Kathleen got up and stood beside Derek, her hand sifting through his curls. "I can't give you those answers, sweetie. You need to decide for yourself if it's worth it." She stepped closer and wrapped her arms around her brother's form, bringing his head down to rest on her shoulder. "But I will promise to support you with the rest of the family no matter what you decide, and I'll tell the other's if you like. Get them to leave you alone." Derek nodded into her shoulder, his arms snaking around her waist to pull her tightly to him. She felt the pricks of wet heat from his tears soak into her shirt, and dropped a kiss onto the thick head of hair.

"Stay for dinner?" she whispered after several long minutes.

"Yeah," came the muffled response. "Thanks."

"Anytime, honey."


	25. Chapter 25

"Ugh," Meredith groaned as she stumbled down the stairs, her hands rubbing away the sleep from her eyes. She had gotten dressed with her eyes closed, wanting to prolong her last few moments of rest before she dove head first into her busy day at work. She just hoped she hadn't forgotten anything important—like pants.

"She said she was going to the bar with him?" Izzie's voice filtered through the kitchen door. "Do you think they're together?"

"They can't be!" George spluttered. "He's her boss."

"We're late. He's all our boss," Izzie's voice rose to a frantic hiss. "He was here the morning after the party!"

"Great," Meredith mumbled, "just great." She was way too tired to take the time to set this straight. All she could focus on was getting some coffee into her system as she shouldered open the kitchen door and made a beeline for the steaming pot. She grabbed the tallest travel mug she could find and filled it to the brim with the strong brew, fighting the small urge to lift the pot itself straight to her lips and gulp it down. "Morning," she greeted her two, now silent, roommates.

"We're late," Izzie repeated, already turned to leave. "Let's go."

* * *

At least her fellow interns were all looking a little worse for wear, was Meredith's overriding thought as she and her peers obediently tailed Dr. Bailey. Cristina looked worse than everyone, but of course she was far too stubborn to give up surgeries for something as insignificant as the flu.

"O'Malley, Yang, Karev, go on to the clinic," Bailey ordered, shooing her interns away.

Meredith gave the disgruntled group a wave, sticking her tongue out at Alex when she was certain Bailey was facing Izzie.

"Karev! Keep your tongue in your mouth or you'll lose it!" Bailey barked, having turned just in time to see his parting shot.

Biting her tongue to prevent the giggles from escaping, Meredith gave a mental cheer as Alex scurried away.

"Help! I need immediate help!" a bedraggled woman approached the three doctors, her frustration evident on her face.

"What's the problem?" Bailey asked, her voice torn between concern for the patient and irritation at being interrupted so demandingly.

"My damn boyfriend swallowed my keys," the woman hissed through gritted teeth, her anger directed more at the sheepish man standing beside her.

"I didn't want her to leave," he rasped out, wincing as she hit his shoulder roughly.

Dr. Bailey closed her eyes and exhaled. "Stevens, locate the lady's keys."

"What do you want me to do?" Meredith asked, tentatively, after Izzie had led her new patient away.

"You, Dr. Grey, are in for a treat," Bailey began with an almost evil smirk. "Since you admitted yourself that you will never get to experience the delights of the Dr. Sloan intern treatment, you get to go through mine for the day. It will be painful and vigorous, but at least you'll get to practice medicine instead of playing personal assistant. Okay?" she asked, almost daring Meredith to refuse.

"Okay," She never turned down a challenge.

"There's a consult in the pit: girl with fever and abdominal pain," Bailey began at top speed, her eyes focused on Meredith's hand scrawling her orders onto a pad of paper. "After that, Nicholas in 3311 needs his meds. Mr. Moeller's IV fell out, and he's a hard stick. Post-ops in 1337, 3342, 3363, and 2381."

"Right away," she responded, dashing away from her intimidating resident.

* * *

"I hate you," Meredith announced, dropping into the empty chair beside Mark's. She reached across his cafeteria tray to snag a cherry tomato and popped it in her mouth.

"Okay, first of all: you love me, and second: no stealing food, ever. We are not food stealing friends." Mark frowned at her. "Why do you hate me?"

"Bailey's on the warpath," she shrugged, reaching around his arm to grab a carrot stick and ignoring his indignant expression. "She's trying to put me through a day of torture to resemble what kind of treatment I would get on your service."

"I wouldn't torture you on my service, if you were ever on it," Mark protested. "Lots of insults, but that's a different kind of torture."

"That's the problem," Meredith pointed out with a sigh. "You make the other interns fetch things, but you wouldn't with me. Bailey's trying to even the playing field."

"Sucks to be you then," he shrugged, spearing a few leaves of lettuce with his fork.

"Ass," she hissed, flopping back in her chair. "My patient had an illegal gastric bypass in Mexico."

Mark frowned, dropping his now empty fork to rest on his plate. "Ouch. Was she very large?"

Meredith sighed and shook her head. "Not at all, she's a normal college kid. Too much pressure from the mom though," she sighed again, looking up at Mark who nodded in understanding. Even though it had never been spoken out loud, she got the impression that Mark's family life had been about as difficult as hers had been. He knew what it meant. "It abscessed," she continued. "Bailey and I have to remove a large part of her bowel."

"That sucks," Mark said. Both stared down at the cafeteria table until he continued, a slight grin creeping across his face. "But you know you'd never be in surgery on my service."

Meredith threw a napkin at him, huffing in disappointment when it fluttered to the ground a few inches short of her target.

"Stop with the teasing and lunch dates, Grey. People are going to suspect something." Mark waggled his eyebrows at her.

"Damn," Meredith groaned loudly. "I'd forgotten about that. Izzie thinks we're dating."

He shook his head with a wry grin. "You say that like it's such a bad thing."

"Mmm…why want to go out for a fancy dinner, come home and cuddle, talk about our lives, and limit yourself to sex with only me?" Meredith ribbed, laughing at Mark's exaggerated shudder. "Didn't think so. I'll talk to her when I have the time; if Bailey ever lets me sit down."

"You are sitting down."

"Shut up."

Meredith's pager beeped, jolting her in her seat. "See, Bailey. Told you," she complained. "That woman is omnipotent, I swear."

Mark shot her a sympathetic smile which quickly disappeared when Meredith stole another tomato before dashing off to the O.R.

* * *

Oh, her wonderful day was just getting so much better, Meredith thought as she tried to suppress the urge to gag from the smell of the intestinal pus still sticking to the strands of her golden hair. Dr. Bailey walked beside her, a bare hint of a grin making intermittent appearances on her face as if she was doing everything she could to avoid it.

"Say it," Meredith urged as they neared the locker room. "I need a shower."

"Hey, I need a shower," Bailey said, "You need to tell that girl's parents what kind of kid they're getting back."

Meredith stopped still and stared at her resident. "You're not going to let me shower first?"

Bailey released a single bark of laughter. "Shower first. You know that wasn't supposed to be part of my punishment for the day."

"I didn't think it was," Meredith giggled, then pulled a disgusted face. She left Bailey in the hallway and entered the locker room, waving her right hand weakly in Izzie and Cristina's direction.

"Oh, God," Cristina groaned, her face paling rapidly as she quickly lifted a hand to plug her nose. "Oh, Meredith, you smell like..."

"Karma," Izzie sing-songed from over by her locker.

At least it sounded like 'karma,' Meredith wasn't sure. "What?"

"Nothing."

"Something vile is stuck in your hair. You know, just go stand over there, please," Cristina ordered, directing Meredith to the opposite side of the locker room.

She stood facing the mirror, tilting her head from left to right to examine the full extent of the gut explosion covering her head. "Ugh, how much do I love being a surgeon right now?"

"Karma," Izzie chirped again.

Okay, she definitely heard it this time. "What does karma have to do with anything?" She turned and demanded.

"I'm just saying," Izzie shrugged, her eyes not meeting Meredith's. "You've been given all the best surgeries, and now you smell like putrid goo; and you're giving off a stench. Karma's a bitch."

Dr. Bailey entered the room demanding a new intern for Dr. Drake's pediatric surgery, quickly brushing off Cristina's attempts to get in on the case. "Grey?"

"Of course," Izzie scoffed, throwing her hands up in the air, and turning violently open her locker.

"What is your problem?" Meredith demanded.

"Um, you!" Izzie screeched, rounding on Meredith. "You get all these amazing surgeries, and you're helping McSteamy for his personal operations…"

"I am not!"

"Hey!" Bailey's bark interrupted the argument. "Yang! Hemispherectomy in O.R. 1 with Dr. Drake. Go." She sent Cristina running out the door with a jerk of her thumb. "Izzie, clinic, now."

Meredith sank down against the wall, the tiredness from earlier returning full force to make every joint and muscle limp. She rolled her head to look at Bailey.

"You'd better explain things to her, Grey. I told you other interns would get upset about your choice in friends." Bailey threw out her parting words before exiting the locker room, leaving Meredith to drop her head into her hands.

* * *

The light was on in the kitchen. That was the first thing Meredith noticed as she eased open the front door to her house. The next thing that came to her was the heavenly smell of baked goods wafting from that direction. Her stomach rumbled. No matter how much a part of her wanted to avoid this unnecessary confrontation, food was a necessity.

She entered the kitchen, her green-grey eyes narrowing in on Izzie carefully icing a chocolate cake. "I thought you'd be asleep by now," Meredith began innocently, not sure how else to break the silence.

"I'm not," the blonde replied, stating the obvious in a quiet tone. "If you wait a few minutes, you can have a piece of cake. Baked it chock-full of love. Actually, chock-full of unrelenting, all consuming rage and hostility, and guilt," she continued, her eyes finally lifting to meet Meredith's, "but it's still tasty."

"So you know I'm not seeing him?" Meredith asked, tentatively.

"Cristina said something about it, and Alex threw in his opinion," Izzie's nose wrinkled. "You're friends?"

"Yeah," Meredith nodded, hoisting herself up to sit on the countertop. "You want the long, sordid story?"

"Nope," Izzie shook her head. "I shouldn't have yelled earlier. I didn't have the right information, and it shouldn't have come out at work. But you…" she gulped, and looked down, fiddling with the ragged edges of the placemat. "You went to Dartmouth. Your mother is Ellis Grey. You grew up...look at his house! You walk into the O.R., and there isn't anyone who doubts that you should be there. I grew up in a trailer park. I went to state school. I put myself through med school by posing in my underwear. I walk into the O.R., and everyone hopes I'm the nurse," her eyes lifted to clash with Meredith's. "The idea of you throwing that respect away for sex with an attending just got to me. So, I'm sorry."

Meredith nodded, "I get that. And you'll earn their respect," she soothed, hopping down from the counter to approach her seated roommate. "You have the luxury of only being able to go up in their estimation. I've started up high. I have so much farther to fall."

"This calls for cake," Izzie announced, cutting two thick slices of the rich chocolate dessert and placing them onto two plates.

"It's good," Meredith mumbled around her mouthful of the treat.

"Yeah," the blonde agreed. "Pity you aren't sleeping with McSteamy, he looks like he'd be good."

"He is," Meredith replied without thinking, before Izzie's shriek made her eyes widen. She dropped her head against the tabletop and started banging it repeatedly against the hard surface.

"You said you were friends!" Izzie cried.

"We are," Meredith mumbled.

"You're having sex!"

"No," Meredith shook her head, lifting it from table surface and rubbing one hand over the now red spot on her forehead. "That's how we became friends. We had a one night stand before I found out he was my boss."

Izzie's anger instantly dissipated into gossip mode, and Meredith fought the urge to go back to banging her head. "Ooooh. That's so awkward. How hot was the sex? I mean, the nurses keep talking about it…"

"Izzie…" Meredith groaned.

"What?" she asked, an innocent grin on her face. "Come on, I'm not getting any. Help a girl out with a few details."

* * *

"I straightened things out with Izzie," Meredith began without preamble as she sat at the bar beside Mark. "Except, I accidentally mentioned the sex."

"It's your subconscious telling you that you want me, Grey." Mark told her with a cocky smile. "Too bad I won't help you out."

"More like my subconscious telling me to go to bed so I stop saying stupid things," Meredith grumbled. "Joe, I love you, seriously," she told her favourite bartender when the shot glass full of tequila slid her way without asking.

"Of course you do," he agreed, grabbing a glass and a cloth to wipe it with. "Just don't tell my boyfriend that."

"It will be our secret," Meredith agreed, knocking back her shot, and slamming the glass down at the counter. "Any good victims for tonight, Mark?" she asked, as she watched her friend scan the bar out of the corner of his eye.

"Brunette with the great breasts at the dartboard," he announced with a smirk. "She's been eyeing me all night. Which means you'd better scram or she'll think I'm taken."

"Going!" She replied, downing her second shot as she walked away to the empty stool beside Alex.

"Hey," he grunted in greeting.

"Hey, I heard about your patient," she said quietly.

"Yeah, first guy I'd met out here from back home." Alex swirled his nearly empty beer in the tall glass, his eyes fixed on the foam streaks sliding down the transparent surface.

"I get that," Meredith said, motioning Joe over to refill their drinks. "It doesn't seem like anyone had a good day. Lots of drudge work."

"Yeah," Alex nodded. "Even Drake is here," he motioned to the far corner of the bar with his chin. "That guy is so cheerful I didn't even think he had bad days. Something about feeling bad for not taking O'Malley's advice about the anesthesiologist."

"Hmmm," Meredith murmured. "We all have those days." She lifted her glass as a toast in Dr. Drake's direction, returning his sad smile.


	26. Chapter 26

**_All changes, even the most longed for, have their melancholy; for what we leave behind us is a part of ourselves; we must die to one life before we can enter another. – Anatole France_**

Derek missed Mark. It was a terrible truth to uncover during his recent soul searching, but it was true. He missed him. Not that he wouldn't beat Mark's pretty face into a pulp if he showed up right now; but he missed the friendship they'd had before Mark and Addison's actions had taken it from him. He missed his best friend, his brother. He missed having someone to talk to about Addison. That was a big part of the problem. If he had found Addison cheating with someone else, Mark would have taken him out for drinks and they would have talked about her and what to do. Or, Mark would have pointed out that marriage was a dumb idea, and he could get a whole load of girls to fall at his feet because he was a hot neurosurgeon. No matter what sort of hatred he felt right now, he missed his jerk of a best friend. Unfortunately, missing him only increased the hatred. He was so angry at Mark for taking that from him.

All he could think about in the past day was how he missed Mark, but shouldn't. And how he should be missing what he once had with Addison, but didn't. That was the real problem. He didn't miss the way they used to be. As sorry as he was that this entire incident had happened, it had woken him up to the sad truth that his marriage wasn't what he hoped it would be, that Addison wasn't who he thought she was. He had done a lot of thinking this week.

And now he sat in his immaculate kitchen, looking in every direction other than at the manila envelope lying on the table before him. It was a perfect kitchen: granite countertops, top-of-the-line appliances, and dark wood cupboards. It would be an ideal place to cook if he ever had the time to showcase the culinary talents forced upon him by his mother at a young age. He never had the time to cook, or anyone to cook for other than himself and occasionally Addison. Cooking was not enjoyable for only one person. The fridge was bare; the black, high gloss surface reflected the overhead light back to him. There were no photographs, no scribbled crayon drawings, he and Addison had long since stopped leaving each other short notes of love when one of them had to go to work early. It looked lonely.

The envelope kept catching in the corner of his eye. He had gotten it for a reason, and it was time. He needed to see it through. Derek's eyes drifted up to the liquor cabinet. No. He needed to do this without the help of scotch.

One unsteady finger dragged the envelope across the granite surface toward him. He lifted the flap and slowly slid the collection of documents out into the open. It was time.

With a heavy exhalation of a too long held breath, Derek lifted the nearby pen to sign along the dotted line.

* * *

"Derek?" Addison called as she opened the front door. There was a shuffling noise followed by the click of high heels on the hardwood floors. She appeared in the doorway of the kitchen, bracing herself against the frame to remove her shoes.

He whispered a greeting.

"I had three surgeries today," she announced as she walked towards him, "and it looks like you've just had a lot of paper work. What is all this stuff?"

"Addison, I…"

"Petition for Dissolution of Marr…Derek," she gasped as she dropped into the seat opposite him. "Divorce papers," Addison whispered.

"Yeah," he nodded.

"Why, Derek?" she cried, her eyes filling with tears. "Things were getting better. We were making progress!"

"Were we?" Derek dragged a hand through his hair. "It just…can't be fixed, Addi. And I don't think our marriage has been a happy one for quite a while. This whole situation forced me to realize that."

"Wha…Derek, you can't….I'm the love of your life!" The overflowing tears traced down her face leaving smudges of mascara in their wake.

"I just," he paused and sighed. "I don't think you are any more." He ignored the strangled sob that escaped from the woman who once meant the most to him in the world. "And I don't think you love me in that way, either."

"How can you think that?" She sobbed out, her hands clenching into tight fists where they rested on the table.

"I miss Mark," Derek offered, shrugging lightly.

"What?"

"I miss him, and I was thinking about it, and I realized that I should be missing you more." He looked up into her face and offered a sad smile. "I should have been missing the past we once had, but I didn't. So the love isn't enough, and I'm sorry. But, I think," he paused and frowned slightly. "I think that if you loved me that much, then this wouldn't have ever been an issue. You would never have slept with him."

"Derek…" her voice was just a whisper now.

"Sign the papers, Addison. Please?"

She pulled the papers and pen toward her with a shaking hand. "Are you sure?" she rasped.

"Yeah," he sighed. "I'm sure."

He watched as his wife of eleven years scrawled her long signature across the bottoms of several pages, putting an end to their now unhappy marriage. It was done. He was free. And he felt free; the weight that had settled on his chest on that terrible night a few weeks ago was lifted.

"Thank you," he whispered when she pushed the papers back to him. "And I'm sorry."

Addison nodded, her gaze now focused downward.

"I am sorry, Addison. I tried to work it out, but…" Derek took a deep breath. "I think this is for the best. It is sad though. Very sad."

"Yeah," she whispered.

"I'm going to a hotel," he murmured softly. "I…goodbye, Addison."

"Goodbye, Derek," was the choked reply.

Derek stood from the table, the signed documents hugged close to his chest. He took one final look around the room; taking in the sparkling surfaces, and his soon-to-be-ex-wife's crumpled figure seated at the table. With a final exhale he turned to the door. He heard Addison begin to sob again, and while he felt sorry for the pain he had caused, a small part of him could only feel relief that it was no longer his responsibility to take care of her.

It was done.


	27. Chapter 27

**"_Life is a lot like jazz…it's best when you improvise" - George Gershwin_**

"Grey! Get your bony ass out of bed!" Meredith was rudely jolted from her sleep by Mark's booming voice in her ear. She groaned at the interruption to her slumber and rolled away from his smug bearded face, pulling the comforter high over her head.

"G'way, Mark," She mumbled, trying to snuggle back into her warm mattress.

Her eyes popped open as the bed started jiggling. Mark was sitting on her bed and bouncing. Bouncing. Seriously? "Not leaving!" He practically yelled. "Rise and shine! I've got coffee."

Meredith lifted the pillow she had been resting on and used it to smack him upside the head. "What the hell, Mark? What are you doing here? And my ass isn't bony!"

"Ow! And I brought you breakfast, Grey. You're just mean. But you're right," he continued, his typical smirk growing, "it's not really bony. Lots of cushion for the pushin'. Ow! Stop hitting me!"

The pair briefly wrestled for the pillow before collapsing back on Meredith's rumpled sheets, panting. "What are you doing here, Mark?"

"The girl from last night; the hot redhead from billing?" Mark began, waiting for Meredith's nod of recognition. "I called her Addison….during."

"Ooops," Meredith stated, giving him a rueful smile.

"Exactly. I've never…I don't usually call out names, but she just looked so like her and I slipped." Mark rubbed his hands down his face before turning to look at Meredith. "Love sucks."

"I wouldn't know," Meredith replied, rolling out of bed and heading for the hamper of unfolded clean laundry. "But based on everything I've seen, I hope I don't find out."

Mark watched as she pulled out her clothes for the day and marched into the bathroom, pushing the door closed but leaving a small crack to keep talking through. "I don't believe that, Mer," he sing-songed. "You're one of those people who believe in fairy tales but bury it really, really deep down. One day your prince will come." He quickly ducked to avoid the hairbrush which came flying at his head. "…and you'll scare him off right away with your violent impulses."

"Well, you're still here," Meredith answered, around a sudsy mouthful of toothbrush. "So it must not be too scary."

"True," he sighed. "But he'll need to be the resilient type."

"Where's my coffee?" Mark grinned at the now fully dressed Meredith frowning at him from the open door of her bathroom.

"Downstairs," he replied before making a face. "And you want to drink it so soon after brushing your teeth? Ick."

"Lead on, Macduff," she ordered, pushing Mark ahead of her out of the bedroom.

At the bottom of the stairs Meredith could see two takeout cups of coffee sitting on the hall table. But the sinful scent of chocolate from the kitchen was far too tempting to pass up. She grabbed the pair of coffees, ignoring Mark's loud protest and practically skipped toward the smell of Izzie's baking.

"Good morning," she called, seating herself at the kitchen table beside George. She watched Mark skulk in to the bright room to sit across from her, scowling in her direction the entire time.

"Good morning," George answered, clearing his throat before greeting Mark, "Dr. Sloan."

Mark just nodded his acknowledgment, still glaring at Meredith.

"You guys want a cupcake?" George offered the plate to Meredith who gleefully grabbed one and started chewing. Her eyes closed in ecstasy at the rich bittersweet taste.

"Delicious, Izzie," she complimented the flour-covered blonde, who stood frowning at a stained handwritten card. "Have one, Mark."

His face broke from the scowl into a disgusted grimace. "Too much sugar for this early in the morning, Mer."

"Worried about what the carbs will do to your figure?" Meredith ribbed, taking another delicious bite of the chocolate confection.

Mark's eyes narrowed as he pouted, lifting his cappuccino to his lips with a frown.

* * *

"Where do you live?" Meredith asked as she sidled up alongside Mark on the bridge. He was leaning forward against the railing, staring out at the for once sunny Seattle skyline.

"Huh?"

"Where do you live?" She repeated. "It's a simple question."

"Why do you care, Grey?" Mark turned his face towards her, his body still facing the large glass panes.

"You know where I live," she shrugged as she leaned back against the railing. "You showed up at my house this morning. You've slept over," she continued, one hand quickly lifting to silence the lewd comment she knew would escape his mouth. "I'm just curious. I've known you for weeks now, we go out drinking, and I don't know where you live. Or if you even have a place to live. I'm assuming you do, because you must have somewhere that you keep all those clothes, and they wouldn't last long in a cardboard box on the street. But do you have a house, or an apartment? Hotel room? Brothel?"

"You talk too much," he complained, his gaze dropping to the pager at his waist when the familiar beeping interrupted the quiet murmur of hospital noise. "I've got to go."

"Mark!" Meredith protested. "Is it really that bad for me to know? It is a brothel, isn't it? Or somewhere illegal? Don't tell me you're squatting!"

"You'll find out sometime, I guess. Maybe," he smirked at her before running of to answer his page.

"Hmph," Meredith growled, sticking her tongue out at his retreating back.

* * *

Meredith stood beside Dr. Drake a few steps away from their patients beside. They both had matching frowns on their faces, as they mentally ticked through the possibilities for the unexplained creeping paralysis.

"There was nothing in the MRI," Meredith sighed in a quiet undertone.

"Yeah," Dr. Drake nodded, rubbing his hand against his furrowed brow. "I expected an intrusion into the spinal space or bony spur in the nucleus pulposus."

"And now it's advancing," she couldn't help the concerned look she sent toward the frightened patient.

"Well, Dr. Grey, you always seem to be with me on these difficult cases, and you have quite the aptitude for Neuro," he gave her a soft smile that didn't quite touch the worry in his brown eyes. "Any ideas coming to mind?"

Meredith bit her lip and shrugged, before tentatively suggesting that, "maybe there is no physiological reason, and he's just having a conversion reaction."

Dr. Drake stroked at his clean-shaven chin, his eyes clouded as he weighed that option for consideration. "You think it's psychosomatic?"

"I think it could be," she explained, noncommittally.

"But unlikely," he finished with a nod.

Meredith nodded as well, but reiterated their point of frustration. "Yeah, but there's nothing in the MRI."

"Let's get him a higher order MRI. We've got to figure this out," Dr. Drake directed quietly, waiting for Meredith's confirming response before the pair stepped back towards their patient.

"Doc! My hands can't move!" The patient's frightened call spurred along their return, and both attending and intern rushed to the bed.

Meredith reached for the man's hand, asking him to squeeze her fingers. She and Dr. Drake exchanged nervous glances when he could not complete the action. With quick succession, Dr. Drake performed a series of pain tests, the line between his eyebrows deepening at the lack of response. "No second MRI," he instructed Meredith. "Call down and prep an O.R. stat."

"What are you operating on? Wouldn't we have seen it?" she questioned, unable to see the justification for the major surgery that the patient would have to go through.

"Exploratory surgery," he explained with a rueful shrug. "It might be risky, but we can't let this expand to his brain stem and stop his breathing. Maybe there's a clot the MRI missed. Are you with me on this, Dr. Grey?"

"I…yes, Dr. Drake," Meredith nodded, speeding away to order the O.R.

* * *

Dr. Drake marched ahead of her to the sinks, reaching out to rip open the package of an iodine sponge to scrub at his hands. Meredith followed suit, quietly slipping in beside him at the next sink and letting the hot water flow over her now shaking hands.

"Thank god that worked," Dr. Drake whispered beside her.

She turned to look at him and saw that his eyes were closed tightly, his head dropped forward as he leaned against the sink. "You weren't sure?" she whispered back, her eyes shifting to see if anyone was within hearing distance.

"No," he responded with an unsteady smile, his brown eyes crinkling at the corners as he looked at her. "Despite the God complexes we surgeons boast at having, you can't always know. And I hate when I have no scientific basis for my assumptions. But occasionally you just have to go for it and try."

"Right," Meredith nodded, reaching up for a paper towel to dry her hands, and offering the second to Dr. Drake. "Is he going to be okay?"

"I think so," Drake responded with a faint smile. "I know we stopped the paralysis from advancing."

"But you don't know if the paralysis he already has will be permanent," Meredith continued for him, seeing the grim agreement on his features. "Well, with any luck…" she trailed off, reaching over with her now dry hand to give his forearm a friendly squeeze.

"Exactly," he agreed, winking at her before walking off.

* * *

"Hey Cristina, Izzie, want to head out for a drink?" Meredith asked as she pulled her long coat onto her slight form.

"Ew, Mer, you want a girls' night?" Cristina made a face. "Sloan's spiking testosterone finally get to be too much for you?"

Meredith wrinkled her nose at Cristina, "no."

"Whatever. I've got a thing," was all that she offered by way of an excuse before she strode out of the locker room. Meredith's stare followed her retreating back, wondering what was to blame for the recent distance from her already standoffish friend.

"I'm going to take a raincheck," Izzie said with a soft smile. "But there will be more cupcakes when you come home tonight."

"Goodnight Izzie," Meredith called with a smile as she approached the still swinging door. "And good luck on your date tonight, George." She grinned at her nervous roommate who awkwardly nodded in her direction, as he grabbed his coat from the lockers and accidentally knocked several books onto the floor.

* * *

"Hey," Meredith said as she seated herself on a barstool beside Alex. "Good day today?"

"Yeah, I'd say so," Alex grinned at her. "Want to make it even better?"

"Nope, but nice try, frat boy," Meredith beamed at Joe as he slid a shot of tequila her way. "I've given up on that part of my life."

"Because she's now waiting for her Prince Charming," Mark entered into the conversation with a mocking tone.

"Shut it, Sloan."

"You love me, Grey."

A low wolf whistle broke through the argument between the two friends. They turned to look at Alex. "Check out the blonde over by the doorway. Damn."

Mark and Meredith followed his eyeline to the newly arriving group of women.

"Oh her," Mark nodded. "She's good. But the brunette beside her is better. She did this thing with her tongue that…"

"Arrgh," Meredith dropped her head against the bar. "You guys are going to be friends now, aren't you?"

"Nah," Mark shook his head. "I still hate interns."

Alex rolled his eyes and left his barstool to close in on the women that had captured his focus; though Meredith did notice that he went for the brunette instead of the blonde.

"I have an apartment," Mark's voice brought her back to their conversation.

"What?"

"An apartment," he explained. "It's about 10 blocks from here. It's tidy, and has a nice television and a cappuccino machine. It's modern, and kind of empty, no pictures, nothing personal. There's nothing really exciting to see."

"Okay," she nodded.

"Okay?"

"I just wanted to know," Meredith shrugged. "Drink your scotch."


	28. Chapter 28

**_The hardest tumble a man can make is to fall over his own bluff. – Ambrose Bierce_**

'Thank god Kathleen let me borrow their van,' Derek thought as he piled the collapsed cardboard boxes into his arms, using the button on the remote to shut the vehicle's side door. He made his way up the stairs to his former residence, juggling his load carefully as he extended the keys in his grip to unlock the front door of the Brownstone.

He stepped inside and placed the stack of cardboard on the floor in the foyer, moving quickly to disable the house alarm. The house looked the same as it always did: immaculate, solemn, and untouchable, but for the first time in years, the weight he felt when inside was lifted. It wasn't his anymore; he wasn't sure it ever had been, but now it definitely wasn't. It was entirely Addison's, and in many ways it suited her perfectly as it never did him. And the home he was moving to; that gorgeous plot of land that he had only seen in pictures, well, it was going to be completely his, and it was pretty much the opposite of any place Addison would want to live.

But he had to pack up all of his things before he could get there. Derek grabbed a few boxes and walked into his study, beginning to assemble the cardboard on his tidy desk. As his eyes scanned over the row of books on the shelves, deciding what needed to be packed up and what could be left, he reached for his cell phone and dialed a familiar number.

The call went immediately to voice mail. "Hey Addi, it's me. You're probably in surgery right now, but I'm just letting you know that I'm at the house today packing up the rest of my stuff. I didn't want you to come home and think you'd been robbed. Anyway, I might see you if you get in before I finish, but if not, I'll leave my key in the mailbox. Hope your surgery goes well. Bye."

Derek turned off his phone and began pulling the necessary items off the shelves; packing away the needed remnants of his past life as he worked toward the future.

* * *

With a soft grunt Derek heaved the overly full box onto the back seat of the van. He was almost done. It amazed him that he really needed so little to take with him on his move, which was probably a good thing given the size of the accommodations he would have on his new land. But it was a little shocking to think that eleven years of his life could be packed away in so few boxes. Only a few knickknacks from the kitchen and living room remained to be boxed away.

Derek shut the van door, jogging back up the steps to finish his packing job. He entered the house just in time to hear the answering machine pick up an incoming call.

"Hello," he heard his recorded voice speak out as he walked into the kitchen, "you've reached Derek and Addison, we are unable to take your call right now, but if you leave a message we'll get back to you as soon as we can."

"Hello Dr. Montgomery," an unfamiliar cheerful voice echoed around the empty kitchen as Derek carefully wrapped some plates in tissue paper. "This is Elsie from Planned Parenthood calling to remind you of your follow-up appointment tomorrow at 2:30. If you have any concerns or questions that have come up since your D&C please let one of our counselors know tomorrow. Have a good day!"

The plate slipped from his hands and crashed to the floor scattering shards of ceramic across the dark hardwood.

* * *

"Derek?" Addison's voice rang out from the behind him, jarring his intent focus from the wedding picture on the mantle; their wedding picture. His gorgeous then-wife standing beside him, both of them smiling happily at the camera. And beside them, the best man, Mark, his brother, his best friend, wearing his typical smirk, but looking happy and proud as he slapped Derek's shoulder. Who would have thought that eleven years later it would have come to this?

"It wasn't one night," he accused softly. "You and Mark didn't have a one night stand. You went behind my back for weeks."

"Derek….I…" her usually confident speech sounded choked and unsure.

"Don't lie to me," he hissed, spinning around to face her. "I can count, Addison."

"Count?" Addison whispered; her eyes wide with shock. "Derek what are you…?"

"Planned Parenthood left you a message," he spat. "An abortion, Addison? I know it wasn't mine; we haven't had sex in months. And it had better have been Mark's, or else we had more problems than even I thought."

Derek watched his ex-wife sink onto a chair with unsteady legs. "It was Mark's," she confirmed, quietly.

"Oh god," he gasped, "I would have been Uncle Derek."

"I wanted you to be Daddy Derek!" Addison wailed. "Mark would never have wanted to be a father. He wouldn't have been a good father. And we we're trying, you were going to forgive me, how could I tell you that I was pregnant with Mark's baby?" She surged toward him, grasping onto his arms. Derek recoiled as if burnt, backing away quickly until he hit the wall behind him.

"Does he even know?" Derek whispered, his eyes closing in an attempt to stop the onslaught of pain and loss. "He had a right to know."

"No," she whimpered. "And don't play the martyr in this, Derek. I'm not evil. Do you know how hard it was? I want to have a baby, Derek. I wanted to have a baby, but we weren't happy. You weren't here enough. I wanted to have a baby, but I didn't want to have Mark's baby. I wanted to have a baby with you."

"I…Addison…I can't even think right now. You had an affair, not a one night stand, but a long affair," he ran a hand through his unruly curls, ignoring the sobs coming from his ex-wife's shaking form. "That thing we'd been doing? Attempting to fix our marriage? It was all based on a lie. And I can't….I can't look at you."

Addison's sobbing increased.

"My stuff is all packed up," Derek whispered fiercely. "I'm leaving, and right now I think I would be happy to never see you again."

He walked out of the room, too tired and angry to turn and comfort her as she crumpled to the carpet behind him.


	29. Chapter 29

**_Hope is the thing with feathers  
That perches in the soul.  
And sings the tune  
Without the words,  
and never stops at all. – Emily Dickinson, 'Hope is the Thing with Feathers'_**

She was never going to get a good night's sleep again; Meredith was certain of that fact. It wasn't even like her university days when her normal rest was disturbed by excessive amounts of tequila and a variety of inappropriate men providing late nights full of screaming orgasms. God, when was the last time she'd had an orgasm? Instead, the past few months had consisted of too long hours at work, very early shifts, and exhausting runs around the hospital. She loved being a surgeon, she did, she just wished she could be more than just an intern, and that the precious hours of sleep she did get weren't rudely interrupted by phone calls from her mother's nursing home…

"You know what? It's no big deal. You don't have to lie. I get it. You have needs."

…or noisy roommates.

"What is going on out here?" Meredith demanded as she opened her bedroom door, nearly colliding with Izzie.

"Nothing!" George insisted, clutching a textbook to his bare chest as he scurried past the two staring females and down the hall.

"He's freaked out cause I caught him playing with little Jimmy and the twins," Izzie confided with a giggle. The two women couldn't help but laugh at George's sputtering protests as he slammed the door to his bedroom. "Breakfast?" Izzie offered.

"You do the food, I'll make the coffee," Meredith nodded.

"Deal."

"And we'll leave the bathroom free for George to finish up," Meredith continued with a giggle, both women only laughing harder at the startled "HEY!" coming from behind the closed wooden door.

* * *

"I so do not need this right now," Meredith groaned as she leaned against the wall beside Cristina.

"I don't think any of us have needed this since high school," Cristina sniped back.

"Well, that doesn't seem to be the case, does it?" Meredith whispered, quickly quieting when the Chief stood up to speak.

"Three interns, four residents and six nurses on this surgical floor have been diagnosed with...syphilis," Dr. Webber began. Meredith groaned internally. All these people had time to have sex with each other, and to catch STDs? Granted, Meredith had no wish to catch syphilis, but this was her longest dry spell in years, hearing about all the sex other people were having was not helping.

Even George had managed to catch it, she thought as she glanced over at her very red roommate who was currently trying to sink as low into his chair as possible. 'Poor guy,' she sighed. It would have probably been better if she and Izzie and Cristina hadn't teamed up to give him his penicillin vaccines, but they all needed a bit of a laugh, even if it was at his expense. And he was a doctor; he should have been more prepared: no glove, no love.

"Poor George," she whispered to Cristina, trying to come up with any sort of distraction from watching the Chief's secretary pull a condom down over a banana.

"Yeah," Cristina agreed, before continuing with a mocking grin. "You know, I think he really likes Typhoid Mary."

Meredith shot a quick look towards the embarrassed, redheaded nurse. "Well, not many budding relationships survive a good dose of VD."

"Yeah," Cristina looked down, going quiet. Meredith frowned at her friend, something was definitely up, but a sex-ed demonstration was not the place to begin pestering for details.

She looked around the room instead, noticing Mark leaning against the far wall, his arms crossed over his chest. He looked up at her and winked as a lewd grin spread across his face.

* * *

A distracted Dr. Webber nearly collided with Meredith as she walked down the hallway to Dr. Drake's office. He murmured a gruff apology before continuing on his way, his hand lifted to massage at his temple. Meredith frowned and stared at his retreating back for a moment before continuing to her destination.

"You paged?" She asked quietly after knocking lightly on the opened door.

"Hmm?" Dr. Drake was staring at some back lit MRI scans, but turned to her voice. "Oh, Dr. Grey, come in and shut the door."

Meredith stepped inside the tidy office, her eyes taking in the neat stack of papers on the mahogany desk, the diplomas from Princeton and University of Toronto, and the shelves of Neurosurgery journals in chronological order. She frowned a little. The last time she had been in here there had been photographs and knickknacks on the desk and walls. Not enough to make it look cluttered or unprofessional, but enough to give it a personal touch. Maybe he was getting a new office?

"I need you to help me out on something for the Chief," Dr. Drake's voice dragged her attention back to him and the scans he was holding out for her. "Can you keep a secret?"

"I…yes," she nodded, carefully taking the films from his hand and raising them to the light. "It's a tumor pressing on the optic nerve," she observed, squinting her eyes to get the full details. "It's operable."

"It is," Dr. Drake agreed, taking the scans back and dropping them on his desk. He sat down in his desk chair, and gestured for Meredith to take one of the empty seats in front of him. "But I won't be doing it. Those scans are Richard's," he smiled at Meredith's gasp.

"He dropped a retractor this morning in surgery," she murmured, concern evident on her features.

"So he said," Dr. Drake nodded. "The procedure to remove it is delicate, and not my area of expertise. Fortunately for Richard, the new Head of Neurosurgery is arriving soon, and will be able to perform the procedure."

"New Head of…" Meredith repeated in a soft tone.

"I have been fortunate enough to have been offered a Chief of Surgery position at a Pediatric hospital closer to my daughter and grandchildren. So I will be leaving Seattle Grace," he smiled gently at her. "I'm going to put in a good word for you with the incoming Head of Neuro though. I'm sure he'd be very happy to work with such a talented young intern."

"Thank you," she breathed.

"You're welcome. Now about the Chief's surgery," he leaned forward in business mode. "I would like you to get his workup done tonight, with Dr. Bailey's assistance. All labs are to be run under a fake name, and no one is to know about this procedure. You and Dr. Bailey will be in surgery with the new surgeon when he arrives. Is that okay?"

"Yes, Dr. Drake," Meredith agreed. "Not a problem."

* * *

"Why so glum, chum?" Meredith chirped as she caught up with Mark's long strides.

He scowled at her. "Who are you and what have you done with Meredith?"

"Sorry," she sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Long day, lots of things happening, and not enough sleep. Tiredness makes me a little crazy."

"You're always crazy," Mark retorted.

"But you're not always this bitter," Meredith frowned. "What's up?"

"I don't have syphilis," he groaned, crossing his arms over his chest.

Meredith stopped short. "I'm sorry. Did you just complain about _not_ having syphilis?"

"Hospital wide outbreak of an STD and I didn't catch it?" Mark hissed. "People are sleeping together and I'm not in on it! That nurses' club is a disaster for my sex life."

"Poor Markie," Meredith giggled, squeezing his bicep in a faux show of support. "At least you aren't getting needles in your ass."

"Hey, I could work with that," he protested, "get some nurse to look at the goods. Who wouldn't want me after seeing this sculpted masterpiece?" Mark twisted a little as if trying to get a glimpse of his firm buttocks.

"Well, if it's any consolation, I haven't got it either," Meredith shrugged.

"That's no help," he groaned. "You've become Miss. Purity since you've been working here. All work and no play…"

"…make Meredith want a screaming orgasm," she continued with a groan.

"Aww, that's my girl," Mark chucked her chin, ducking the punch she threw his way. "Well, I'm doing better than you, that's a big help," he smirked before running off to attend to his beeping pager.

* * *

Seattle. He was in Seattle. Derek inhaled the fresh scent of falling rain as he stood under the overhang outside of Seattle-Tacoma Airport. His flight from New York had been long and crowded but he was here for his fresh start. Most of his clothes and personal items had been sent ahead by freight, so he only carried with him a briefcase. It made it look like he was here visiting for only a brief time. Either that or like he belonged here. Belonged here; he liked the sound of that. Something about the rain and the very atmosphere was soothing and less oppressive than New York. He had never thought he would ever think something like that. He was genetically engineered to dislike everywhere except Manhattan. But this place…he just felt free.

"Derek?" He froze at the sound. No. No, no. Oh no, no, no. That voice belonged in New York. He was supposed to be here and free.

"Derek?" One graceful hand landed on his shoulder, forcing him to turn around and face the woman he thought he had left behind.

"Addison, what are you doing here?" He hissed, backing away from her touch.

"Richard called me out for a TTTS case," she looked at him with an unsure expression. "What are you doing here?"

Derek groaned, rubbing his forehead with his hand. "I'm Richard's new Head of Neurosurgery. He's been after me for a while, and I finally took him up on it."

"You're moving here?" Addison whispered. "Permanently?"

"Yes."

"What do Mom and the girls think?" She asked.

"Addison," he growled. "They're not your concern anymore, but they support my fresh start."

"Right," she agreed. "You're right."

The former couple stood beside the bustling doors to the airport, both staring in opposite directions, unable to come up with anything to say. The rain pattered in a steady beat on the pavement, but the sound was overpowered by the drone of cars and airplanes, and the scuffle of people flitting about.

"Look, if you're heading to Seattle Grace now," Addison began, "it might be a good idea to share a cab. If you're okay with it."

Derek heaved a long sigh, and glanced at the large crowd of people huddling under the shelter from the rain, and the too short line of awaiting black cars. "Sure, Addison. It's okay."

* * *

Meredith trudged across the lobby after her long day, pausing to change direction when she saw Mark sitting in one of the hard plastic chairs, staring into space.

"Hey," she whispered, dropping onto the seat beside him.

"Hey," he offered her his usual grin, the corners of his lips falling slightly as he took in her tired features. "What's up?"

"My mother has Alzheimer's," Meredith confessed with a shrug. "She isn't traveling. She isn't writing a book. She isn't anything. I've been lying to everyone."

"Grey…" Mark's features softened slightly. "How advanced?"

"Very. She's in a home and I'm the only one who even knows she's sick," she paused to inhale a shaky breath. "Sorry. I didn't mean to tell you, but the nursing home has been calling all day, and I just…don't know what to do anymore."

"That sucks," Mark nodded, reaching his hand forward to quickly squeeze her knee. "Tequila?"

"Oh, god, yes," Meredith groaned, standing up to put on her coat. "Hey, you know the syph outbreak," she giggled slightly, "totally Alex's fault."

Mark snorted. "It would be. I'll make him go buy me some condoms next time I have him on my service. Ow!" He yelled when Meredith pinched him, he quickly moved to retaliate, then stopped dead in his tracks.

"Mark?" Meredith asked, as she watched all the colour drain from his face. She rushed forward to support his weight. He stood stock still, staring past her toward the entrance way, his mouth agape. There was a pained grimace on his face that she hadn't seen in a few weeks. "Mark," she repeated.

"Derek," he croaked, "and Addison."

Meredith followed his line of sight to the elegant couple entering the hospital. 'He would fall in love with a woman who looked like Isabella freaking-Rosilini,' she groaned internally. The tall woman was dressed in designer heels and an expensive looking black coat, her red hair perfectly coiffed in loose curls. She had her hand looped through the man's arm, but he was obviously not paying too much care for her comfort as he rushed forward along the tiled floor. The woman's, Addison's, long legs were working quickly to keep up with his fast pace. The pair were obviously in the middle of a heated argument, but were keeping their volume down to a quiet hiss.

Suddenly the man looked in their direction, stopping abruptly at the sight of Mark. His face took on a similar pallor to the man she was supporting, and she both heard and felt Mark's intake of breath at the eye contact. The man almost violently removed Addison's hand, turning to hiss something at her before his gaze returned to Mark's direction. This time his eyes locked with hers, and something in her shifted; she was drowning in pained blue pools. His eyes widened before breaking away to stalk toward the elevator, Addison hurrying in his wake. Meredith was left trying to force her lungs to expand and contract.

"C'mon," she gasped to Mark, after they both had accomplished the once simple act of breathing. "I think you need scotch more than I need tequila."

* * *

"Addison, will you let go of my arm," Derek hissed as they entered Seattle Grace Hospital. "I don't care how much your feet hurt in those heels, we're divorced."

"Oh, just be polite Derek," Addison replied, trying valiantly to keep up to her ex-husband's fast pace. She nearly collided with him when he came to an unexpected standstill. "What?" she asked; concerned about the sharp intake of breath from her usually steady companion.

Derek swayed on his feet. Mark was here. Mark was in Seattle. He had come to escape everything, and Mark was here. The overwhelming nausea that had been a part of the first few weeks after finding his best friend in bed with his wife returned with a vengeance, clawing at the inside of his empty stomach. "Let go, Addison," he ordered, nearly ripping her hand from his arm. He couldn't take her touch right now.

He looked back at Mark, somewhat satisfied to see a sickened and shocked look on the man's face. His gaze drifted to Mark's left, to the petite blonde supporting Mark's weight. Derek's eyes collided with green-grey orbs unlike any he had ever seen. The ground underneath his feet felt unsteady, and his heart beat in an erratic rhythm unlike any he had ever felt. He had to get away.

Derek rushed for the elevator, watching the metallic doors close just before Addison could step inside. He slumped back against the far wall. Mark was here, in his escape, and Addison had followed him here. This was not supposed to be happening. But a tiny voice in the back of his head wondered why the idea of Mark having that tiny blonde as a girlfriend hurt most of all.


	30. Chapter 30

**_Candy is dandy  
But liquor is quicker. - Ogden Nash, '__Reflection on Ice-Breaking'_**

A few loud cheers drowned out the familiar sound of the bell above the door as Meredith guided Mark through the entrance with a strong push at his back. He looked awful. No hint of colour had returned to his face, and his eyes were clouded by a dull, vacant look.

He hadn't spoken a word since the encounter at the hospital.

"Scotch, Joe," Meredith demanded, once she was certain that Mark had a steady perch on the bar stool and was not likely to take a dive toward the floor. "And leave the bottle."

Mark drained the amber liquid with one quick swallow, pushing the empty tumbler in toward Meredith for the refill he knew was coming. The second glass was emptied just as quickly.

"What's wrong with McSteamy?" Cristina alternated between staring at Meredith and staring at her near-catatonic companion, hoping for an explanation.

"His life sucks," Meredith answered, refilling Mark's glass again and coaxing it back between his cold fingers which were just beginning to regain heat. "I thought my life sucked, but his life…definitely sucks."

"Oh, we're playing that game are we?" Cristina asked, turning her face back towards her drink as she used dexterous fingers to squeeze all the remaining juice from the lime wedge resting on the rim of her glass. She pulled a napkin forward from the bar to wipe away any traces of pulp from her hands. "You two don't want to play with me."

"I haven't had sex since we started working at this hospital," Meredith began, ignoring the spray of beer coming from George's nose and mouth. "Do you know how long that is for me?"

"Oh, boo hoo, Meredith," Cristina began, "sucks to be you. No way in hell you're winning with that one." She turned to her right. "George, beer is dripping from your nostrils." Her gaze followed him as he stood from the bar and disappeared into the men's room.

"I knew I wasn't going to win. That's nowhere near as bad as Mark's," Meredith leaned across Mark to whisper at Cristina. "He got caught sleeping with his best friend's wife, and escaped to Seattle. But, the ex-best friend, and ex-lover just walked into Seattle Grace looking all hot and fabulous."

"Damn," Cristina whistled, her eyes raking appraisingly over Mark's form, still staring ahead, ignorant that he was the subject of their conversation. "Pour him another scotch. There seems to be more to him than I thought."

Mark sipped from his newly filled glass, his face beginning to regain colour and mobility. His eyebrows furrowed. "Grey," his voice came out in a low raspy growl. "Tell me you did not just say what I think you said."

"I did," she sympathized with a pat on the back. "Had to wake you up somehow. Besides, Crisitina's not going to tell anyone. And, I'm not sure that she'll have to. If they're at the hospital, people are going to find out."

Mark groaned and dropped his forehead against the bar with a loud bang. "Did I at least win your stupid contest?"

"Yes, Mark," Meredith nodded in sympathy, running her hand up from his back to stroke his hair. "I think I can safely say you did."

"You didn't," Cristina sighed. "I'm pregnant. I win."

Ignoring Meredith's gaping mouth, Mark raised his glass to clink against Cristina's. "That sucks. You do win." He drained the last of the scotch.

The sound of a thud and shattering glass snapped their attention across the bar to Joe's crumpled form.

"Okay, maybe Joe wins," Cristina conceded. The three stared at each other for a few seconds before rushing to his side.

* * *

Meredith steered her two friends through the hospital hallway toward the surgical wing nurses' desk. Mark stumbled every few steps and required a strong touch to get from one place to another. Her hand on Cristina's elbow gripped tightly to prevent her from escaping.

"All right," she hissed in Cristina's ear, hoping that the swaying Mark was too drunk to remember this tomorrow. "Details. You're pregnant? What are you gonna do?"

Cristina sighed and came to an abrupt stop, the pull causing Mark to come dangerously close to contact with the shiny tile floor. "Look, you know what happens to pregnant interns. I'm not switching to the vagina squad or spending my life popping zits." Her violent hand gestures jerked her arm free of Meredith's clutch, allowing her to transfer both hands to supporting Mark. "I'm too talented. Surgery's my life."

"I'm with you, babe," Mark nodded, raising a finger in her direction. "Should have used a condom," he jabbed the finger toward Cristina, nearly poking her in the eye. "Don't let me catch you with out a condom again."

"Like you're one to talk, McAdultery," Cristina swatted at his still swinging hands. "And keep your fingers out of my face before I bite them off."

"Like McSteamy better," Mark slurred. "'S hotter." He pulled his hand back to rub against his chin, groaning, "I'm a dirty mistress."

Meredith just managed to suppress the snort. "Yes, Mark, you are. Now shush." Her comforting tone disappeared as she turned to Cristina. "Who are you sleeping with?"

Her fellow intern couldn't meet her eye. "Just a guy."

"That's all I get?" She hissed. "You can't just bring something like this up and expect me to drop it."

"Well, watch me." Cristina hurried to catch up with George and Izzie up ahead.

Meredith followed at a slower pace, propping a quickly fading Mark up against the desk. "Just stand there, and try not to fall, or something." His overly exaggerated head nod made her bite her lower lip with worry.

"Is he going to need an operation?" Cristina's voice drew her attention away toward Dr. Drake who was frowning at the chart in his hands.

"Yes, definitely," he sighed, "but not one which I have any experience in. His basilar artery is blown up like a balloon, there's subarachnoid bleeding. The aneurysm is the size of a golf ball."

"There's no way to clip something like that," George slumped against the desk, staring in the direction of Joe's hospital bed.

"Standstill," Meredith whispered.

"I'm not moving," Mark whispered back, proving himself a liar as he lurched sideways.

Meredith grabbed him and pulled him upright. "Not you, dummy. The operation." She turned toward Dr. Drake. "He needs a standstill operation?"

"Very good, Dr. Grey," he responded with a kind smile, though his eyes did make a worried pass over Mark's large frame. His face fell, "but, as I said, it is definitely not my area of expertise. And I certainly don't want my first attempt to be on such a high risk case. However," he perked up slightly as his eyes focused on something over Meredith's shoulder, "perhaps the new Head of Neurosurgery would be up to the challenge. Dr. Shepherd!"

"No, no, no, no, no," Mark began a steady chant under his breath, trying to ignore the twinges in his stomach as the scotch mixed with the rising bile.

"We're getting a new Head of Neurosurgery?" Meredith heard George whisper to Izzie. "What's happening to Dr. Drake?"

"I don't know, but if he's the new Head, I would be happy to work under him any day. With him. I mean with him." She corrected after George's shocked noise. "What, he's hot."

Meredith couldn't agree more. No, wait, boss, boss, she remembered. And Mark's ex-best friend. With a beautiful, leggy, fabulous, redheaded wife who was here with him in this hospital. His beautiful wife who had slept with Mark. "Damn," she whispered. And yet, she couldn't help herself but stare at him as he spoke to Dr. Drake, the two men pouring over the medical chart looking for options. Maybe it was the pained look on his face, or the slight redness around his eyes, but he looked so broken. He looked like Mark did on bad days. But still so good. "Damn," she whispered again. It had to be the hair. No one in the world had hair like that. "Damn."

"Dr. Grey," she jumped as Dr. Drake's voice pulled her from her musings. Somehow, her brain had become so occupied with rebellious thoughts that she hadn't noticed both doctors look up, catching her staring at them. She quickly turned her attention to making sure Mark was stable, hoping the redness in her cheeks would disappear. A little more composed, and certain of Mark's ability to remain on his feet, she made her way over to the surgeons.

"Dr. Shepherd, I'd like you to meet Dr. Grey," Dr. Drake's eyes twinkled. "She's going to be assisting you with your secret assignment tomorrow morning. And while I don't know what you look for in interns, I can assure you that she's one of the best."

Meredith smiled at her mentor, consciously taking slow, deep breaths to calm her nerves as she gathered up the strength to face this man whose pain she had heard so much about. "Dr. Shepherd," she murmured, reaching out a hand to shake. "I look forward to working with you."

The touch of his warm, fingers sliding against her palm jolted her eyes up to meet his, which had widened, as hers had done, in response to the contact. The pain there was staggering, and it took all her strength not to step back in shock. Not to step back and cause physical harm to her drunken friend who had been the cause of that look. Instead, she squeezed his fingers slightly before letting go, not sure that comfort from her would be at all welcomed, or that it would be a good idea given that he was now her boss. Her boss. She had just squeezed her boss' hand. "Damn," she muttered.

Derek tilted his head and looked at her appraisingly. She had just squeezed his hand. With an almost affectionate warmth. He gave himself a mental kick. So maybe she was friendly….with Mark. Damn it. Or with all her bosses, trying to get ahead. His eyes narrowed slightly. Or maybe she was just a touchy-feely person. She had certainly been touching Mark. A lot of touching Mark. He tried to ignore the rising nausea at the thought of the tiny hand he had just held going anywhere near Mark's body. Or maybe, maybe, she had felt it too. Whatever weird thing he had felt in the hospital lobby. Whatever weird thing it was that made him notice how nice her hair looked falling against her shoulders, or the faint smell of some type of…flower. He shook himself. "Dr. Grey, I look forward to it as well."

Dr. Drake grinned, his excited expression making him look young despite the grey hair. "Dr. Shepherd here has agreed to try the standstill operation, but first he will need some additional patient history, overnight labs, and a cerebral angio. I know you are always interested in exciting neurosurgeries." He tilted the chart in her direction.

"I…uh…" Meredith stared at the chart. She cursed her drunken friend behind her. A standstill operation! "I can't. I'm sorry, Dr. Shepherd, Dr. Drake, but…um…Mark, that is, Dr. Sloan, is not well," she avoided looking in Dr. Shepherd's direction when she heard his sharp intake of breath. "I need to get him home. And come back for the secret surgery tomorrow."

Dr. Drake frowned, "I hope that Dr. Sloan is okay." He looked past her to the green-tinged Plastics attending who was now sitting in the chair behind the nurses' station with his head in his hands.

"Yep, fine, just fine," Meredith rambled. "It's scotch, lots of scotch. Or what we could get from Joe before he collapsed from the crazy aneurysm in his brain. But no real sickness just drinks, because he needed them, and….stop talking, Meredith."

"I see," Dr. Drake just looked amused. "A crazy night then. Well, Dr. Shepherd, you'll have to content yourself with one of Dr. Grey's fellow interns. They all belong to Dr. Bailey, and as such are the best and brightest of the new crop." He led his replacement and Meredith over to the nurses' station. Meredith hoped she was the only one who noticed how Dr. Shepherd looked almost ready to retreat. "These are doctors Yang, O'Malley and Stevens. The one in the chair looking like death is Dr. Sloan," Dr. Drake leaned toward Derek to say, "he usually is more presentable, especially when there are nurses present." He turned back to the group. "This is Dr. Shepherd, who will be replacing me as Head of Neurosurgery when I leave next week. I am certain you will all be helpful in his adjustment to life at Seattle Grace. Now, any of you interested in a standstill operation?"

As three hands shot skyward, Dr. Drake chuckled, he held the chart out in George's direction only to have it captured by Cristina on the way. "Dr. Yang it is! Full work up, and a cerebral angio, Dr. Yang. Dr. Shepherd and I have some work to discuss, so we shall see you later. Goodnight." Dr. Drake extended a guiding hand indicating for Derek to precede him to his office. "Feel better, Dr. Sloan; let Dr. Grey take care of you."

Derek stopped in his tracks for a brief second, closing his eyes tight against the images created by Dr. Drake's kindly meant words. He snuck a quick glance back over his shoulder toward Dr. Grey. Though her hand, the hand which had held, his was resting on Mark's back, her eyes were looking at him. He snapped his gaze away, marching forward down the hall.

* * *

"Easy does it," Meredith coaxed, gently lowering Mark into a bed in the on-call room. "Not quite up to one of your usually on-call room encounters, but it will have to do. This is why you should have showed be where you lived. Because you are far too drunk to make it to my place, and I have to be here early tomorrow morning."

A pained groan was the only reply.

"I'm putting a garbage can beside your bed if you need to puke," another groan. "Shut up, you big baby. I'm not cleaning up vomit, so you are going to aim for the bucket if you need it." She set the metal container down with a loud clang. "Now, close your eyes and get settled. Need anything taken off to feel more comfortable to sleep?"

"Shoes," came the muffled reply.

"Now I know you feel bad," she answered, moving to untie the laces of his leather shoes. "No dirty comments?" She eased one shoe after the other off his feet and placed them together on the floor by the foot of the bed.

"Hey," she whispered, squeezing his toes lightly, "I don't know how much you'll remember in the morning, but you're going to make it, okay. You're here, you're a great surgeon, and you've been a good friend to me. So you should apologize to your friend, and talk to him, because he's hurting, Mark, and so are you. And if you want, you should talk to her, but only after you've figured out the situation by talking to him, because you don't want him to see you with her and make anything worse." She squeezed his toes again. "Or, you can just avoid him all day. If you want to do that, I'll help. But, if he's taken this job, he's going to be here for a while, and I don't know how long that will work."

Meredith stood up and took off her coat, purse, and shoes, climbing up into the top bunk. She lay there for a while staring at the ceiling. "Mark?" she whispered.

No response.

"He's so hurt. He…no one should hurt that way." She fell asleep counting holes in the ceiling tiles, and dreamed of pained blue eyes.


	31. Chapter 31

**_"There was never yet an un-interesting life. Such a thing is an impossibility. Inside of the dullest exterior there is a drama, a comedy, and a tragedy." - Mark Twain "The Refuge of the Derelicts"_**

With a final tug Meredith checked the lock on the surgical gallery door for O.R. 2; everything was going as planned. That is, with the exception of the unplanned extreme tiredness due to Mark's very necessary binge drinking the night before. Thank god for coffee.

She took a final sip from the Styrofoam cup, easing the last few warm, bitter drops down her throat. A shudder travelled up her spine and she tried to remove the taste from her mouth with quick movements of mouth and tongue. Okay, so perhaps hospital coffee was not worth the effort. But at least she wouldn't fall asleep during surgery.

Throwing the cup in a nearby trash can, Meredith raised her hands to quickly swipe through her tangled hair, capturing the honey brown strands with an elastic, and cursing the few shorter locks which fell out of the harsh confinement to frame her face. She took an inordinate amount of time to tie on her scrub cap, her body unable to move forward as she faced the scrub room doors. Her fingers fumbled with the rough cotton ties as she considered the man she was about to see operate. Derek. She couldn't imagine what he must be feeling. Coming to a new city for a job only to be confronted by the man who betrayed him, while the woman who betrayed him was still by his side. Having to operate on a fellow surgeon, knowing that the man's career rested in his hands. The way he had looked at her made her think that maybe he knew that she knew about Mark. So the added stress of working with someone who he suspected knew about his painful past. How could she act around him? What could she do to make this easier?

"You plan on standing there all day, Grey?" Dr. Bailey's sharp question pierced her reverie.

She shook her head and surged forward toward the scrub room only to stop abruptly in the face of the small woman blocking her path. "Did you steal any bodies today, Grey?"

"What?" Her genuine confusion must have satisfied Dr. Bailey who moved to let her past. Meredith watched, puzzled, as her resident pursed her lips while she vigorously scrubbed at her hands, all the while mumbling about body snatchers and unauthorized autopsies.

Upon Bailey's departure into the O.R., Meredith turned to the scrub room's other occupant, finding a confused look, one which she knew she must share, on his face. "Any idea…?" she began weakly, not sure how to even try to open communication with this man.

"No," his response was abrupt and invited no further comment as he thrust his hands under the flowing hot water.

Meredith stepped up beside him, her eyes fixed upon his long fingers. He had gorgeous hands. Hands which had felt warm holding her own. Meredith always noticed hands, she supposed it had something to do with her surgical upbringing and the knowledge of how much power hands could hold. The power to restore life, the power to heal, and the power to kill. Derek's hands looked strong and steady, his finger nails kept necessarily trim and clean. She needed to stop thinking of him as Derek. And she really needed to focus on scrubbing in, rather than watching soap suds glide off his slick palms.

"So, uh, are you nervous?" She nearly cringed as she realized she'd spoken aloud.

"What?" His voice was quiet. She couldn't decide what emotion was being restrained by the low volume.

"Sorry," Meredith looked back down at her fingers. "Dr. Drake likes to talk before his surgeries, so I was just…talking. I don't have to. You've probably got some amazing pre-surgery ritual that I'm interrupting by talking. So I'll just shut up and let you get back to your silent thing, or whatever. You won't even know I'm here. Shutting up."

A low chuckle tore her focus up to his face. While his eyes still looked hurt beyond anything she had seen before, their corners were crinkled with mirth. "It's a complicated surgery," he conceded, tying mask strings around his neck. "I make one mistake; I end a fellow surgeon's career, my mentor's career. Oh, no, I'm not nervous." He offered her a wry smile before lifting the mask to cover it.

"You're supposed to be good," she blurted. "Great, that is. I mean, I've heard that you're supposed to be great. So, I think you'll do great at this."

He focused in on her, as if she was a puzzle he had yet to solve, or a surgery that he hadn't decided how to proceed with. "I hope so," he murmured, stepping into the O.R.

Meredith followed right behind him.

"Alright Richard, ready for our special super secret silent sunset surgery?" Derek began, the pain in his eyes belying the humour in his voice. "I've been practicing that," he stage whispered toward Dr. Bailey.

Bailey stared him down in response, no trace of amusement on her features. "You have too much time on your hands."

"No time for jokes, Derek," the Chief waved his hands, pushing away the mask the anaesthesiologist was holding to his face. "I'm trusting you with this. You're supposed to be the best in your field, which is why I called you out here. It's why I want you to be my new Head of Neuro, but I need to know that you can do this. Let's see how good you really are."

"I've got it, Richard. You're in good hands," Derek responded. His voice darkened a touch, just enough to make the hair on Meredith's neck stand up. "I want you in perfect health so that we can have a chat about a few things."

The Chief's eyes darted away from Derek's glare to the darkened windows above. "Did you look up the gallery?"

"Yes," Meredith jumped in, hoping to give Derek time to calm down. "Don't worry about anyone finding out."

His eyes still moving, the Chief focused in on the surgical tray, "what did you put out there, the Midas Rex?" He barely listened to Bailey's reassurances before moving along to his next concern. "How much vancomycin is there? You're not going to be too liberal with those benzos, are you?"

All trace of darkness evaporated, Derek addressed the small audience in the O.R., "you know, doctors make the worst patients." He turned his focus back to Richard. "You should just breathe in the happy gas. Stop running my O.R." He leaned down to come level with the Chief's ear, nodding to the anaesthesiologist to begin drug administration. "I've got you covered."

Derek stepped back to wait as the Chief went under. He gazed at Dr. Grey. Meredith. Despite the swirling emotions surrounding his recent encounters with Mark and Addison, and even with the tiny blonde he was currently focusing on, something about her grounded him. Gave him time to breathe, easing the tightness in his chest. Her eyes locked with his and a frisson of something indescribable coursed through his body, causing his heart to race, while relaxing everything at the same time. He was ready. "Alright everybody, it's a beautiful day to save lives. Let's have some fun."

* * *

"A moment of your time, Dr. Grey," Derek couldn't believe the words had escaped his mouth. All through surgery, every minute he examined the tumour under the microscope, every painstaking stitch and staple, every blip of Richard's slowed heartbeat, he considered how to begin talking to her. He had stood in silence beside her as they observed Dr. Bailey dress and wrap the Chief's surgical wound. He had remained quiet as they both removed all traces of the surgery from their hands, watching as the fragile bubbles shimmered and popped on their course to the drain. And now that Dr. Bailey had run off to send her interns to assignments, with a "come find me when you're done with the Chief, Dr. Grey," he had finally opened his mouth.

"Sure," she reached for a towel, handing the first to him before grabbing a second for herself. She leaned against the sink, her body turned toward him, though her eyes focused on her hands, watching with unnecessary concentration as she removed all traces of water from her fingers. "Do you have post-op orders you need me to follow?"

"You know, don't you," he blurted, ignoring her offered question. Her offered escape from what would now become a difficult conversation. Her eyes snapped up to meet his widening a fraction in what almost seemed like terror. "You don't have to pretend you don't."

She bit her lip. His eyes zeroed in on her mouth before he shook himself back into the conversation. "Yes," it was barely a whisper. "I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault," he shrugged. "You have nothing to be sorry for," he couldn't figure out why his stomach felt unsettled at the thought. So she knew. She wasn't involved. Why did he feel that she should be apologizing?

"I'm sorry it happened to you. I'm sorry you got hurt by…"

"Why are you friends with him?" It came out as a harsh and angry hiss. And that's when he knew. He hated that Mark could have friends. That Mark could have done the unthinkable and hurt him so badly, and come out here and make friends. As if he had done nothing wrong. As if he hadn't played a part in destroying part of Derek's past. He hated that Mark could have loyalty from this woman in front of him. That stung more than anything at this point. This slip of a thing who was affecting him in ways he had never felt before was Mark's friend. Maybe Mark's girlfriend. He felt a sharp stab at the thought.

"I…" she looked down again. "We were friends before he told me. And everyone has done something horrible in their past. While I do not condone what he has done, it was done before I knew him, and he regrets it. Not that I'm the one he should be telling things like that. You…he should definitely be telling you…and I'll let him do that. Everyone has done something they're ashamed of, and he didn't hurt me when he did this, it was in his past. And it's not up to me to forgive him, but it's not up to me to blame or hate him for it either." A hesitant hand lifted in his direction, pausing midair between them before shooting forward to squeeze his forearm, then pulling back immediately as if it had been burned. "I'm sorry it happened to you," she repeated before turning to escape from the scrub room.

Derek inhaled sharply, letting the air escape through clenched teeth in a slow hiss.

* * *

"Idiot, idiot, idiot," Meredith muttered as she rushed through the hospital, uncertain of her destination other than getting as far away from the scrub room and one Derek Shepherd as possible. She had squeezed his arm. Married attending whose wife her friend had had dirty adulterous sex with. What was she thinking? She spotted Mark in the attending lounge, and suddenly her scattered thoughts and feelings had a focus.

"You!" she called, forcing the door open with a bang.

All anger dissipated at the sight of his haggard face. He looked awful, dressed in wrinkled scrubs and a lab coat with a suspicious looking stain on the right sleeve. His face looked drawn and tired, and there was stubble darkening the usually clean-shaven parts of his face. His normally put-together appearance was shot.

"Never mind," she sighed, all the venom leaving her. "You okay? You look awful."

"Gee, thanks," he croaked. "Where'd you get to this morning? I didn't hear you leave."

"I had something to do, and you were pretty much unconscious anyway," she watched in confusion as Mark poured himself coffee from the machine on the refreshment table. "Okay, now I know you're not alright. Hospital coffee from the machine? You don't even have the energy to torture your interns for cappuccinos?"

"Nope," Mark groaned, digging around the table for the coffee fixings. "Hangovers like this require crappy coffee, it's the only thing that works." A flash of red hair pulled his attention up to the window. "Oh god."

Meredith turned to focus on the woman. Addison. Derek's wife. Even in scrubs, the woman looked immaculate. Even in salmon coloured scrubs. Who wears salmon coloured scrubs? She made them look good, her red hair perfectly tamed in loose curls, expertly applied makeup showcasing her flawless skin and highlighting her gorgeous eyes. Damn.

She heard Mark groan and her attention shifted back to him. With growing amusement, she watched him spoon sugar into his cup, his eyes trained on his ex-lover across the hall. Spoonful after spoonful. "Mark," she called forcing his attention away from the window. "Do you have any idea how much sugar you've just put in your coffee?"

His focus dropped down to the black liquid in front of him. With a wary motion, he pulled the spoon from the coffee, lifting the cup to his lips. He hesitated before opening his mouth.

Meredith coughed politely. Several times.

Mark took a sip. He shuddered, and quickly put the cup down. Meredith watched as he struggled to swallow, biting her lip to keep the laughter restrained. Her shoulders quivered.

"Delicious," he grunted, his face contorted in pain. A snort escaped from his blonde companion. "God, my teeth itch!"

She was done for, collapsing in helpless giggles on the nearby couch.

Mark threw a pillow at her head and she laughed even harder.

In the hallway outside, two surgeons frowned.

Addison Montgomery stared at her former lover playing with that…girl. God, she was a child. She had to be half his age and there he was laughing with her and playing with her like he had done with…no. She stopped to consider again. He had never acted like that with her. There had always been an undercurrent of fear, of wrongness, as Mark knowingly betrayed his best friend. She turned away from the scene, spying her ex-husband also looking in that direction. Well, at least she knew which intern she wanted to request. She was very interested to see what "skills" she had that Mark was interested in.

Derek scanned another chart looking for indications of prior health conditions. His short time in working at this hospital had already provided him with more interesting cases than those he had seen in New York, recently. A musical giggle broke through his concentration and drew his attention to the source. Meredith. Of course, Meredith. He took an unconscious step in her direction before noticing the source of her laughter. A dark cloud passed over his face and he turned to walk away.


End file.
